


Mechanics of Emotion

by hpwlwbb, Kiertorata, ravenclawkward, WhyTFNot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Astrology, Auror Hermione Granger, Black Hermione Granger, Breathplay, Case Fic, Cunnilingus, Derealization, Detectives, Dismissive Avoidant, Dissociation, Dom/sub, F/F, Face-Sitting, Family, Light Dom/sub, Mystery, Original Character(s), Past Character Death, Past Suicide, Scottish Highlands, Second Chances, Smut, Tiny Bit of Hurt/Comfort, Twins, Vaginal Fingering, bit of kink that wasn’t pre-agreed on and hence counts as dub-con, brief reference to workplace harassment, detective Padma, emotional avoidance, fear of commitment, fear of intimacy, gothic romance influences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24562105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpwlwbb/pseuds/hpwlwbb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiertorata/pseuds/Kiertorata, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkward/pseuds/ravenclawkward, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyTFNot/pseuds/WhyTFNot
Summary: Padma’s life is in a rough place. She owns a failing private investigative business and carries a rather heavy load of self-loathing to top it off. In walks Marjory Macmillan offering a well-paid case and the golden ticket to better times.Along the way, Padma realises she has much more than the case at stake. There's her relationship with Parvati, whose feelings she’s trampled on for years. There’s the past she ran from - including a certain Auror who she can’t stop thinking about. And there’s the battle against her inner saboteur, who seems set on making her run when more than one second chance is glaring her in the face.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Padma Patil
Comments: 34
Kudos: 46
Collections: HP WLW BB 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's note:**  
>  It really takes a village. Thanks to everyone for all the encouragement I received along the way:  
> to [lenapinewoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenapinewoods) who had to listen to the majority of my rants and anxieties  
> to my housemates who endured me rambling about this fic for months  
> to [Evening12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evening12), my lovely comrade from the slow writers club (we did it!)  
> to [hippocrates460](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460), who gave me encouragement when I really needed it  
> to [inamamagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamamagic) and [violetclarity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetclarity) and the rest of you for all the sprints on Discord  
> to [violetclarity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetclarity) and [frnklymrshnkly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnklymrshnkly) for all your support, and for organizing this amazing fest  
> to [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter), for being a wonderful person and stepping up to sensitivity read this at a short notice  
> and _most of all_ , to my beta [Duinemerwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duinemerwen), whose amazing work made this a million times better than it originally was. Seriously, you rock. I wish I had had time to take everything you said into account. ♥
> 
> My warmest thanks to the amazing artists [tonftyhw](https://tonftyhw.tumblr.com/) and [ravenclawkward](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkward)! I can’t wait for the rest of the world to see the beautiful pieces you created that really brought this to life. Working with you was an absolute privilege. ♥
> 
> This is the longest fic I’ve ever created, and it was written during a trying time. This fic absorbed a lot of my angst and worries during lockdown, so if it’s heavier than my usual writing, there lies the reason. I love these characters and really wanted to write a story worthy of them. I hope I achieved that. The title is from a song by Elsiane.
> 
> Also, I'd like to add: f*ck TERFs. This fic may not have any trans characters, but I will be clear about this in all my works from now on: I stand against transphobia and JK's hateful bs.
> 
> **Artist:** [tonftyhw](https://tonftyhw.tumblr.com/) (tumblr)  
>  **Medium:** Digital Art (Krita)  
>  **Artist’s Notes:** I had so much fun working on this story! 
> 
> **Artist:** [ravenclawkward](https://ravenclawkward-art.tumblr.com/) (tumblr)  
>  **Medium:** Animated digital painting  
>  **Artist’s Notes:** Huge thank you to the mods for organizing a great event and the opportunity to work with such fantastic writers!

**Chapter One**

The ticking of the clock was obnoxious and hateful. Padma glanced at it, and it glared back at her accusingly: _It’s four o’clock. Another day has gone by without a customer, and you are a failure_. She jammed her quill onto the parchment where she had been making revision notes on forensic potions, most of which she knew by heart. The tip of the quill ripped the paper, leaving a rift through the instructions for Blood-Revealing Potion and Fingerprinting Powder. It was useless anyway. She didn’t have a potions lab, nor access to one anymore, and she was too broke for half the ingredients anyway. She didn’t know what she was doing, letting another day pass by like this.

‘Padma?’

She looked up from her battered notes to see Parvati holding some files, her pose unusually hesitant.

‘I was going through your bookkeeping, and noticed that you still haven’t paid the office rent this month. We’re expecting thirty-five Galleons from the Kneazle case last week, so that should bring in some money. Do you want me to go ahead and pay the rent with what’s in the bank right now? I could go to Gringotts tomorrow if you write me a letter of credentials.’

A small flush of panic followed by a stronger wave of irritation passed through Padma’s spine and she dropped her quill into the inkwell with deliberate care before bringing her focus to her sister.

‘I told you you don’t have to do that. I’ll handle it, alright? Just— give it here,’ Padma said, and snatched the files. She placed them carefully onto the pile of papers sitting at the corner of her desk, and evened out the edges with her fingers. ‘I can handle the financial side. I took Arithmancy in school and I’m better with numbers anyway.’

She cursed internally at her own tone. Everything she said to Parvati always came out as more hostile than she intended. It felt sometimes like no matter how much she tried to let her love and concern for her sister come through, it was some distant version of herself that spoke when she opened her mouth. It was like they were five years old again, on a holiday, and Parvati would choose the nicer things as souvenirs and their mother would let her have them, because Parvati liked glitter and colours and pretty things, and everyone knew that Padma cared more for books.

Padma hadn’t known how to express her feelings at five, and she didn’t know much better now. Patterns repeated, relationships faltered. She made systematic work towards goals that seemed to fade out of her grasp any time she got close.

Parvati frowned and looked like she was about to fire off a retort, but Padma held up a hand. ‘You don’t need to worry about rent or anything else,’ she said, this time softly. ‘Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re doing alright.’

‘I know I’m doing alright,’ Parvati snapped. ‘You don’t have to strain yourself to praise me. I’m not some charity case.’ Apparently she was in a mood today. Padma had suspected as much in the morning, when Parvati had breezed past her coming into the office with barely muttering a ‘hi’. She had gone straight into the kitchenette for coffee, which Padma had apparently made too bitter again, and sloshed it with angry milk before sitting herself at her desk to work.

‘You’re the Gryffindor, not me. I don’t do charity,’ Padma said, trying to keep the irritation from her voice.

Parvati sighed. ‘I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing, then, but _fuck_. I’m bored, Padma. There’s only so much file organizing I can do, especially when you’re so goddamn organised that there isn’t really anything to do. I’ve transcribed all your past cases and even cleaned out the kitchen cupboard – there was mold in there, by the way, in case you didn’t notice.’

Padma had noticed. She had obstinately avoided opening the cupboard since moving in. But this office was the best she could afford. The location was decent, at least. It was at the less-dodgy end of Knockturn Alley, _almost_ Diagon Alley, really.

Parvati stormed off back to her own desk in the lobby.. It had been three weeks since Parvati had joined her at Patil Investigative Solutions Service. Padma certainly couldn’t afford an extra employee. She could barely afford her office space above the Magical Massage Parlour that she was certain dealt in sexual favours. In its fourth month of operation, her investigative service had barely been scraping by. Padma had hoped that by now, the stupid business that she had started in an uncharacteristically tumultuous time of her life would have become stable enough to at least pay for rent. But for all her cleverness with numbers and budgeting, even she couldn’t conjure up a well-paying customer out of thin air. Wizarding London seemed to think it was doing fine without a privately-owned investigative body. They already had the Aurors, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Why did they need Padma?

The whole situation with Parvati was even more troublesome. Padma wanted to do what was best for her sister, but her patience was starting to reach its limit. The events of the war had hit Parvati worse than they had some others, and she had spent the year after the war in and out of Mind Healing sessions. Padma had thought she was getting better when she had signed up for a Healer’s apprenticeship. but Parvati had quit her training during the last term without explanation. Since then, she had gone through a string of odd jobs, ranging from temporary assistant at the Central Owl Post Office to cleaning rooms at the Leaky.

Padma had been simultaneously concerned and exasperated at her sister’s behaviour. It was as if Parvati had thrown everything she had worked for away – and for what? It wasn’t like mucking up her life was going to bring her best friend back. So, her parents’ voices saying “family comes first” ringing in her head, she had offered Parvati a job.

Padma vanished the notes she had made and muttered a cleaning spell at her quill - she liked to keep her stationary in prime condition. Her desk was neat as ever. It was evidence that everything was not, in fact, falling apart around her, and that she still had it together. She used a Warming Charm on the remains of her afternoon coffee and sunk into her chair, taking a sip of her coffee pensively. She had always imagined very different paths for herself and Parvati. But here they were, united after years in their respective Hogwarts houses, years with different friends and pursuing different interests. As children, they had both been somewhat disgruntled at people treating them as if they were one person, but at twenty-one, their lives were depressingly similar.

Two fuck-ups dropped out of their respective education, slowly but surely failing at their professional life. Neither of them had lived up to their familial expectations. Everyone had always thought Padma would become a Healer, or if she couldn’t wrangle that, a high-ranking Ministry official at the very least. Ironically, Parvati had proved to be the sensible one when she applied to the Healer programme. Padma had shocked her parents when she had announced in a rash, Gryffindor, un-Padma-like way, her plans to apply to the Auror programme.

She hadn’t been alone in her decision. The war had lit a spark in most of their generation. A record number of applicants had applied in the Auror programme that year, most notably Harry Potter and his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Everyone had assumed Hermione would have taken the Minister’s assistant position she had been offered. But the former teacher’s pet had thrown herself into Auror training with remarkable ease. Padma, who had spent years competing with Hermione for the top spot in class only to come second every time, struggled during Auror training. Her academic skills weren’t wired to the fast-paced, action-packed classes that her agile, athletic classmates seemed to cruise through easily.

A screaming, red-faced, Auror Williams, and the ever-so-stoic Auror Martinez, who reminded her a little of her father and evoked an odd need to seek his approval in her, oversaw their training. They became a constant nuisance in their dance of good Auror, bad Auror, that seemed to revolve around her more often than any of her fellow trainees.

_‘Patil! What have I said about using your wand-free hand for something useful?’_

_‘If that was a vindictive ex-Death Eater there, they would have just disarmed you. Focus!’_

Padma scored highest in Casebuilding, but it had been a small victory when every Gryffindor in her class outshone her not only in the infamous obstacle race, but all their other physical exams too, and even in Interrogation.

She wasn’t used to being second to worst. On most days, she felt sick with a stress that was incomparable to anything she had endured while cramming for her O.W.L.s. She dreaded going to training almost as much as she dreaded coming home to her parents’ house in the evening. She wasn’t good enough for the Aurors.

The truth was that she had panicked and bolted.

And out of her frustration, her failure, weeks of brooding in her old bedroom, and some final spark that was mostly panic and a need to prove everybody wrong, had been born Patil Investigative Solutions Service.

For a moment, she could tell herself it would all turn out okay. She would get up early tomorrow, and get the papers – there might be something interesting in the personal ads section— if nothing else, perhaps another lost Kneazle to be found. She would start reading that book on marketing that she had bought all those months ago, when being a business owner had still felt shiny and new. She would approach her situation differently. Not as a personal failure, but as a problem to be solved.

Soothed by that thought, she got up and braced herself for the passive-aggressive comments she knew would await when she passed Parvati’s desk.

She tiptoed past the hall into the kitchenette to rinse her cup off with an _Aguamenti_. The coffee maker caught her eye, a layer of burnt brown caking the bottom of the glass. She considered washing it, but decided it would give her sister something to do the next day. If nothing else, Parvati could spend the next morning complaining about it.

Padma pulled on her cloak as she made her way through the hall. Parvati was still there; she seemed to be making notes on something, her pink quill glittering with every scratch against parchment as she glanced every now and then at something lying to her left. Padma couldn’t stop herself from peeking at what she was doing; it was her detective instinct, or maybe just a general lack of respect towards boundaries, resulting from years of sharing a room in their childhood home.

She spotted charts with occult symbols, obnoxiously flashing stars and a purple background. On the other page – _Crystal balls - 50% off!_ It was _Astrology Monthly_ or _Tea and Tarot_ or one of the other ludicrous subscriptions Parvati still took that Padma actively disapproved of.

‘Put that away, Parvati,’ she said, her decision to quietly walk by gone in an instant. ‘I told you not to bring that stuff into the office. A customer could see it. What do you want them to think, that we’re some sort of astrological service?’

Parvati wrinkled her nose in annoyance, but folded the magazine and slid it into the drawer. ‘Fine, I was about to go home anyway. Stop taking everything so seriously.’

_I’m taking things seriously, because if I don’t get a case – a real one – soon, I’ll be in a hell of a lot of debt with nothing to show for it,_ Padma thought. She almost regretted asking Parvati to put the magazine away. It wasn’t as if Parvati had anything else she could enjoy.

The sound of the doorbell pierced the early evening stillness. It took Padma a moment to recognise the unfamiliar sound.

‘Hello? Is there anybody in?’ a voice rang from the hall behind the door.

Padma stood dumbly for a second, as if held by a _Petrificus_. Then, she shook away the surprise and called, her voice slightly quivering, ‘We’re open! Please come in.’

‘That’s a relief. I thought I wouldn’t make it in time. It’s always such a bother to travel to London,’ the voice continued, and the door creaked loudly open, reminding Padma once again that she should apply a good lubricating charm. The voice didn’t quite match the frail-looking older woman who stepped in. ‘I can’t use a Portkey – they make me sick, and I’m afraid the Floo does the same… The train it is, then, for trips to the city.’

Parvati, quick to react, had gotten up from her desk. Alerted by her gesture, Padma realised she should greet the woman at the door. As she approached the door, she took a moment to evaluate her customer.

The woman looked _regal_. There was no other way of putting it. Long, forest-green robes with an elegant cut. Pearl earrings, and a fine silk scarf.

And yet there was a wild quality to her, something inexplicable, which made her look like a wood nymph with her dark curls with silver streaks.

_Adultery_ , Padma’s mind instantly suggested, but she wanted to shake her head at the thought. She had come to recognise what a woman who suspected her husband of cheating looked like, and this wasn’t one. Besides, Padma thought dryly, the woman was at least sixty. It was probably ageist of her to think so, but she couldn’t imagine someone that age being overly invested in the comings and goings of their partner, not even when many witches and wizards lived fulfilling lives to over one hundred.

She had her thoughts confirmed as the woman pulled off her glove to uncover a delicate, wrinkled hand with no ring. She pocketed the gloves and extended an arm at Padma.

‘Marjory Macmillan,’ she said. ‘I saw your ad.’

‘My ad?’ Padma said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle shake. She hadn’t the money to spend on advertisement, and couldn’t recall putting an ad anywhere recently.

‘The one you had in _Astrology Monthly_ ,’ Madam Macmillan said. ‘It really was divine happenstance that I happened to check the advertisements section this time. I usually browse past. Too much nonsense,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve wasted many a good Galleon on readings from amateurs.’

‘Right,’ Padma said, frowning. She offered an arm to the delicate woman, which the woman gladly took.

Mulling over the woman’s words, she threw a side-glance at the back of the office, and noticed Parvati had retreated into the kitchenette to put on the kettle.

Parvati. _Damn her_ , Padma thought, as she led Madam Macmillan further inside, feeling a renewal of her earlier vexation. For all her heartbreak and misfortune, Parvati was turning out a lot more trouble than Padma had accounted for. She would have to talk with her sister later about how things were run in her office. Parvati needed to run all her business-related ideas through Padma first.

Padma led Madam Macmillan to the small sitting area opposite Parvati’s desk that barely saw any customers. It was reasonably clean but for a small film of dust on the coffee table. Padma hoped Madam Macmillan had bad eyes.

The sitting area was Parvati’s brainchild. When Parvati had first joined her three weeks ago, she had insisted Padma let her do something to the office.

‘It’s unprofessional! I don’t care about what you think, but appearances really matter. Customers will turn away if your office looks like a pigsty.’

‘Fine. You can have 10 galleons. Make it worth my while,’ Padma had finally said through gritted teeth. It was more than she could afford, but the word ‘unprofessional’ had been enough to trigger some concern in her. The interior of her office was something she had never given any thought. It was her brains she needed to sell, not her aesthetic.

‘10 galleons? What do you expect me to do with that? Buy a new house plant?’ Parvati had said.

But despite her grumbling, she had managed to turn the place around quite a bit.

The second-hand sofa and coffee table placed carefully in the only space they would fit looked good as new despite the vague whiff of something old. A nice tea set had appeared in the small kitchenette to accompany Padma’s single, coffee-streaked mug. The wilted fairy orchid gifted to her by Neville Longbottom had gained new vigour under Parvati’s pedantic watering regime.

Not that any of this mattered to Padma, but if it would help her get more customers than just old ladies looking for their Kneazles, it was probably worth it. Padma hoped that the woman currently seated on the lumpy sofa was one of the non-Kneazle cases.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ her sister said, levitating a teapot, cups and supplies.

‘Thank you, dear,’ the woman said. She looked up and a look of surprise and then understanding passed her face. Padma recognised that look; she had seen it plenty of times in her life.

‘Oh, twins,’ she said. ‘And you were born…?’

Parvati seemed to know exactly what she was asking.

‘Early November,’ she said, as she took the seat beside Padma. ‘We’re Scorpios, but we were born two hours apart. I’m a Libra ascendant,’ she said, smiling. With a hushed voice and a conspiratorial gleam in her eye, she continued, ‘Padma is a Scorpio ascendant, and I think the double Scorpio explains her quite a bit.’

Unable to entirely hide her disdain, Padma summoned her quill and notebook, and listened half-heartedly as her sister and the customer chattered about star signs and whatever else an interest in otherworldly nonsense entailed. However, it seemed to enthrall their new customer, who nodded with an enthusiastic gleam in her eye as Parvati gave a brief analysis of their conflicting personalities.

Padma didn’t know whether she should feel reluctantly appreciative of Parvati’s ability to make anyone feel comfortable and talkative. She still didn’t know what Macmillan’s business was. For a moment, she had had her hopes up, that this would be The Case. The woman had walked in with an air of mystery that promised more than nonsense with horoscopes. She couldn’t in good conscience charge more than a couple Galleons for some simple foolishness.

Confirming her anxieties, Macmillan opened her mouth to say, ‘I’m a Leo myself. Different ascendants are not unheard of, but it’s rare. It’s curious how it can go with twins…’ Her brown eyes seemed to become glazed for a while, as if she was staring somewhere far beyond the dim office space with its unpleasant, artificial light.

‘I had a twin,’ she said, a sadness taking room in her features.

‘What happened?’ Parvati asked.

‘She passed away, over thirty years ago. I barely think of it now,’ she added as she saw the way Padma and Parvati were looking at her.

‘Were you close?’ Parvati asked carefully. Padma saw her lean in just slightly; her face had taken that look of easy concern that came naturally to her that Padma struggled with.

‘Very.’ Her voice seemed to take a warmer edge now. ‘We were thick as thieves. We used to do everything together, before Katherine married. But that’s all in the past. I didn’t mean to come here to bore you with old memories. I’m sure your sister and you must be impatient to hear why I’m here to humbly request your services.’

Padma perked up, which wasn’t easy on the saggy sofa, and held her self-inking quill ready for whatever was to come.

‘You see, I was hoping you could take a look at this letter that arrived by owl two days ago.’ She began to dig the folds of her cloak. ‘It’s not much of a mystery. I’m sure it’s just some local lads, playing a prank on an old woman, but it _is_ rather ominous, don’t you think? I’ve been sleeping rather fretfully ever since it arrived.’

Padma took the parchment, that didn’t seem particularly old or new, and read the simple, slanted letters: _I’m coming for you_.

In a more haunting setting, the letter would have caused a chill to pass through her body, but now, nothing. Just a bit of parchment, that stirred no feelings in the uninspiring setting of her office.

‘I’m sure you have more intriguing cases to work on,’ Madam Macmillan rambled on, ‘but I was hoping you’d help out an old woman. I’m not one for surprises. If someone out there is planning some kind of prank, I don’t think my poor heart could take it.’

Padma nodded in vague sympathy, while also trying to analyse the pieces in front of her so far. Already, Madam Macmillan was proving to be a character who presented intriguing contradictions in the way she expressed herself. The part of a fragile, old lady didn’t quite fit into the picture she had provided during their short acquaintance. Yet, it seemed like a part she was comfortable playing. Maybe she wasn’t aware she was playing a character. Some people just wound up living their lives like that.

‘Have you experienced anything odd in the last few days?’ Padma asked. ‘When did you say the letter arrived?’

‘Two days ago, during the early afternoon. And no, I haven’t, I don’t think. Everything in my life has been business as usual…’ As her voice trailed off, her eyes wandered to the back of the room again, past Padma’s curious eyes, and her face took a pained expression.

‘Sometimes I get a feeling I’m being watched,’ Macmillan said, bringing her gaze down to her empty teacup. ‘It’s just a feeling, of course, There’s never anyone there when I go to look, but it feels very real nevertheless.’

The chilling thrill of a mystery started creeping up Padma’s spine. It was an addictive feeling, one of the main reasons she had always secretly fantasized about becoming an Auror along the years, one that still gave her a rush every time it spiraled up to her brain, igniting her investigative streak. Padma met Macmillan’s eyes over the coffee table. ‘I’d be happy to take your case, Madam Macmillan.’

Madam Macmillan’s face looked like it was not used to smiling frequently. The shape her lips took was strained and sorrowful, and reminded Padma of a Thestral, even though it was clearly meant as a token of warmth. ‘Thank you, dear. And please, call me Marjory.’

‘I’ll pay you generously for your time, of course,’ she continued, and started to dig in her small, leather purse. She took out a booklet and scribbled something in it with a compact, featherless quill. ‘Should that be enough of an advancement to get you started?’ she said, handing Padma a note.

Padma held her breath and peeked a look at the sum.

‘That’s more than – I mean, that’s fine. Brilliant,’ she said, stumbling on her words. She tucked the cheque into her front pocket. She tried to catch Parvati’s eye, to let her know their future prospects had just taken a significant turn for the brighter, but Parvati stood up and started to put the tea set away.

Padma’s thoughts were a scattered mess, but somehow also bright and clear at once, as was often the case when she was excited about something. It was as if a bunch of threads had started to tug at her at once, in a competition to seize her attention and pull her into different realms of possibilities and considerations; it wasn’t a bad feeling.

‘Do you mind if I keep this?’ Padma asked Marjory, motioning at the letter, and tucked it among her notes when she got an affirming answer. ‘It’s getting quite late. Typically, in a case like yours, I go with the client to visit their home. Would it be alright if I came over and we continued tomorrow? I would like to do a basic security check, and know more about your life. I can be there first thing in the morning. Oh, I’ll need to draft up a contract for you…’

They agreed on the details; Padma would visit her the next day in her home in Scotland. When she saw the address, her stomach lurched at how far it was, far past Hogwarts – had Marjory truly travelled all the way from the Scottish Highlands to visit _her_ detective office?

After she’d finally escorted Marjory out the door, she did some paperwork at her desk, still half-dazed by her stroke of luck. Excited about the new case, Padma had nearly forgotten about her argument with Parvati, and was no longer bothered by the discomfort she had felt about her feelings and behaviours around Parvati. She wanted to run through her initial impression of their customer with her sister, who usually had a good intuition when it came to people, but when she returned from her office to the main area, Parvati was already gone.

Fine, have it her way. Parvati was apparently still mad at her. It didn’t matter; Padma had enough work on her hands to occupy herself for the evening.

She heard an impatient rap on the door, followed by a rough swing of the door.

‘Padma,’ a voice said.

It was a voice Padma hadn’t heard for over four months. She had half-hoped, half-feared she would never hear it again, but of course, the wizarding circles of London were far too small; it had only been a matter of time. She just hadn’t expected she would come seeking her.

Her heart was still beating loudly from the excitement of receiving a new job – and the five hundred Galleon cheque in her pocket. She felt wholly unprepared. She turned around and quickly tried to reorganise her face into what was hopefully a normal expression. It felt as if every muscle in her face had suddenly developed a will of its own and was intent on opposing her will.

‘Hermione,’ she choked. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

She had to stare at her for a moment to make sure it was all real. Too many things had already happened in one day. She tried to search Hermione’s demeanor for anything new, anything that had changed since they had still seen each other daily, but it was almost surprising how much of her was the same.

The determined brow, often furrowed in deep thought, was now held in a grim line. Under it the same, warm-brown eyes Padma had been in the habit of secretly staring at from across the library table when they were studying for their theoretical exams together, now squinted at her in an evaluating manner. Her full lips were upwardly curved, but Padma knew her face well enough to know the difference between a smile and a scowl.

The only new thing about her were the glaringly crimson Auror robes, that seemed to parade their authority despite their somewhat rumpled state.

‘I know Madam Macmillan was just here, so no need to pretend otherwise,’ Hermione said. ‘What I want is to know why. What did she say to you?’

It took Padma a moment to stop staring at the few curls that had escaped Hermione’s ponytail, and let her words sink in. When she realised she had just asked a question, businesslike and professional like a cold slap in the face, she had to gather her words for a second.

‘That’s between my client and me,’ said Padma. She didn’t like where this was going, she didn’t like the darker gleam Hermione’s eyes had taken.

‘Well, I don’t want you investigating her,’ Hermione said. ‘Stay off my case.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Padma said.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh and said, ‘I’ve spent weeks getting her to warm to me, it’s in a delicate place and your work could ruin that. I don’t care what she’s paying you—’

‘Why _are_ you investigating her, anyway?’ Padma asked, narrowing her eyes. ‘She didn’t mention the Aurors being involved.’ But Hermione ignored her question, still focused on turning Padma’s mind.

‘I’m warning you, if you do anything to compromise the work I’ve done with her, I _will_ tell Head Auror Robards,’ Hermione said. ‘And I don’t think he will take kindly to you sabotaging my work.’

It would take a very heavy reason for her to actually do as she said. They both knew this; they had studied for Introduction to Criminal Law together, quizzed each other late into the evening on all the sections and clauses and quirks. Unless something serious went on – a murder, or something of that weight – nothing could stop Padma from doing her work as long as she stayed within the bounds of the law, no matter how convincingly Hermione said it.

A guilt-infused childishness almost made Padma want to drop it all, give up the case or keep goading Hermione enough that she would truly put her words to action. Then, she would only have to wait for an official-looking Ministry-sealed envelope to appear on her doorstep telling her she had to let it go. Maybe – since they were interfering with her livelihood – she could complain and get some kind of monetary compensation… Hermione could keep living her life without Padma and Padma could keep actively forgetting there had ever been any confusing feelings that had set her emotional life in disarray, and continue to live hers in the solitude that her difficult personality demanded.

But no. She needed this. She would hold onto her case. She needed to hold onto something, anything, in the sinking, crumbling hole that was her life.

She almost started to explain as much to Hermione, but then decided that Hermione didn’t need to know the details of her circumstances.

Hermione’s look of hurt became magnified; it looked like Hermione was doing the same to her, trying to search for some hidden message in Padma, as Padma had done with her when she arrived, but Padma shut down the path of communication between them by keeping her face still and emotionless.

She thought of all the times she had loved being on the other side of Hermione’s terrific, wonderful brain. It had always just been debate for the sake of debate with them, an entertaining battle of thoughts that felt special and unique to them due to the quickness of thought and the understanding they shared. The current moment was more reminiscent of their relationship during their Hogwarts years. Hermione had been something of a self-appointed rival for Padma throughout her years at school.

Padma had recognised their similarity even then. When they had been first years, Hermione had been singled out as well even though she had never been quiet and shy like Padma. At the time, Padma had taken pleasure in knowing there was someone who was even less socially adept than her. It was surprising, at first, how well they got along during Auror training after years of polite exchanges during classes (and a less-polite comparison of assignment grades, which Padma mostly kept to herself), how their lukewarm acknowledgement of each other formed into a fast friendship.

And then, due to Padma’s conscious decisions, that friendship had begun to untangle and come apart.

Hermione looked like she still wanted to say something. Her lips were pursed in a constrained line, her stance tense and unnatural. But with a final unreadable look at Padma, she left with a loud slam of the door.

Padma was happy to notice that she wasn’t the only one of them to behave childishly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Padma got up at an ungodly time. She tiptoed from her room into the hole of a bathroom, where she gave her hair a tug and resolutely avoided looking at the bags under her eyes in the mirror. Despite Madam Macmillan’s gracious advance, she wasn’t keen on spending it on luxuries like Portkeys, which is why she was up early enough to catch the Knight Bus Express.

Padma’s room was really more of a large cupboard, into which she had shoved her bed that took up most of the crummy space. She had moved in three months ago. She shared the flat with three Hufflepuffs, whose names she always confused with each other. Sometimes she suspected there were more than three of them living in the small space: there were always people coming and going.

Her parents would have been shocked if they had known the reality of her living conditions. Padma had abused her golden child card and managed to keep them from questioning her or coming inside, although they had given the apartment a long, suspicious glare from the outside when they had helped Padma bring over her things. She had told them she was living with friends from school – _close_ friends – ‘No, not Sue, Mum, and no, not Lisa either, just some friends from a year below me.’

Padma made herself a rushed morning coffee and a sandwich in the kitchen, where she tried to avoid touching anything that wasn’t strictly necessary – every surface was covered with sticky remains of food and potions, and sprinkles of some dry herb that Padma strongly suspected wasn’t basil. It really gave a new meaning to Hufflepuff.

On the way out, she snatched the morning paper, even though it wasn’t in her name. The Hufflepuffs would just have to do without. Most likely they would have rolled it into skins, anyway.

She spent the rickety, three-hour ride catching up on the news, squeezed in between a lady with a large dog and an older wizard who snored. The _Prophet_ made most of its content these days from the messy tangle of post-war law cases that still shook the wizarding world – some of the less clean-cut ones had stretched on for years. Of course, there was always room for some run-of-the-mill, Wizarding world drama, too.

_ROY “KING OGDEN” TRAVERS RETURNS TO ENGLAND_

_Roy Travers, eccentric businessman of the Travers family, has announced his return to the country after nearly forty years abroad. The sixty-nine-year-old known best as owner of Travers Distilleries has recently purchased property in Kent, and at a most opportune time. The price of property is at an incredible low as the economy recovers from the war – offering a convenient opportunity for the investor unafraid of a good bargain._

_Too convenient, some have said. Travers moved the family business to the Netherlands right before the outbreak of the first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Many of his acquaintances and his very own cousin are imprisoned in Azkaban for war crimes, but Travers has always professed his innocence, having been residing peacefully in Het Gooi for the last several decades._

_‘After my wife’s death, I needed a change of landscape,’ he says, pain briefly crossing his face. ‘Since then, I’ve been far too busy investing in my love for quality spirits to concern myself with current events. I’m sorry many of my old friends met such a pitiful end, but they should have played their cards differently.’_

_We are curious to see what the multimillionaire has in mind now that he is back home._

_‘I’m not ready to retire just yet,’ he says with a wink._

The man in the article was apparently important to warrant his own photograph, albeit small. He grinned a cold smile and waved a wrinkly hand with several rings. His extravagant suit was made of some shiny material – it looked clownlike on the old man, but it had probably cost a fortune. His silvery-grey eyes, giving a piercing stare at the camera, reminded Padma of Lucius Malfoy.

She dimly remembered the old, pureblood name Travers from the lessons she and Parvati had attended when their parents still had the desire to involve them in eminent wizarding society. It had been a long time ago. Now, the notion didn’t sit entirely comfortably with her image of her parents. While they still allowed themselves to be defined by the pursuit of material success, Padma was relieved that they’d stopped sucking up to people they barely liked.

Padma skipped ahead to the comics section, but started to feel sick, so she put the paper away. The roads were becoming windier and wilder. Outside, the early colours of autumn flashed by in a dark blend of browns and greens. The last tree she had seen had been some miles ago. Now the bus whizzed by a landscape that turned more rugged and sharp by the mile. It was like something out of a Brontë sisters novel: grey skies and endless hills dotted with the occasional lonely sheep.

Padma stepped off the bus onto a narrow, grass-strewn road. Her mind was a dark cloud that mirrored the atmosphere around her. Her stomach growled. She regretted not paying the extra Sickle for a sandwich. 

Her mood dropped a further notch when she saw Parvati standing at the gates of Macmillan House, waiting for her. She had suspected that Parvati and her independent temperament would somehow find her way here, but it still irritated her that her sister had not so much as left a note.

‘How’d you get here so early?’ Padma said glumly.

Parvati blushed.

‘I told Daddy it was for a case, and he paid for my Portkey,’ she said.

Great. Now her parents knew she couldn’t afford them Portkeys to Scotland. Padma wondered how she would explain that one away at the next family dinner.

‘Aren’t we going in?’ Parvati said, when Padma took a step back away from the gate.

Padma dug out the old camera she had received for her fifteenth birthday from her bag. It had received little use at the time – Padma didn’t believe herself to have any artistic talent – but it had recently found a new purpose in cases like these. She ignored Parvati, who stood next to her and seemed annoyed by the drizzle of rain falling upon them, and took her time taking some pictures of the gate.

They entered the courtyard through the creaking gate. Padma’s eyes followed the sharp line that the wrought iron fence made against the sky, until it turned into a crumbling stone wall, and was swallowed by a hedge of suffering hawthorn.

Padma had always felt a deep distrust towards nature. It scared her in its demand for presence, and instead of letting her trepidation manifest as respect, she had shoved nature as a whole into the category of things she didn't like. She disliked how it exposed her inability to let things be as they were, without superimposing her commentary of thoughts and theories onto everything.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ said Parvati, looking at the rain-spotted stones thoughtfully, ‘in a desolate way.’

Padma grunted in response. She took some more pictures of the house and the surrounding yard, and made a mental note of questions about the warding to ask Marjory. She had felt the tingle of wards as they entered through the gate, so Marjory had probably adjusted them to let them in. But nature had its own magic that sometimes behaved in odd ways and affected artificial wards. Hawthorn was thought to have shielding properties, but Padma didn’t put much value into old folk tales.

The house itself looked like it was made from stones as old as the land – laid out in graceless, ascetic beauty, as if shaped by a giant’s hands. The house, like its owner, presented a blend of dignity, age, wildness and solitude. Even to Padma, who liked to spend a lot of her time alone, it seemed like a hard way to live. _What a lonely life it must be out here_.

They rang the bell and waited for a moment before the door was opened by Marjory. Her appearance today seemed to echo the same dramatic, wild elegance of the house, rather than the frailty of her performance the night before. She wore a dress that looked ageless, and her shoulders were wrapped in a tartan shawl.

‘Come in, please,’ she said. She glanced at the drizzle behind them. Padma could see she was pondering some comment on the weather. Here, out in her lonesome house, she seemed to find it harder than in Padma’s office to make smalltalk. She shuffled to make room for them to enter and hang their cloaks.

‘It must have been a dreary trip here,’ she said. Her voice echoed in the empty hall.

‘Oh, we’re used to it. We used to come around these parts to attend Hogwarts every year,’ Parvati said, taking a polite, conversational tone. As if she hadn’t just enjoyed a Portkey trip, Padma thought wryly.

‘Hogwarts is quite a ways south, but to you Londoners it must feel the same.’ Marjory said, but not unpleasantly.

‘Has anything new happened? Any new letters?’ Padma asked, deciding she was ready to get to business.

‘Nothing, no,’ Marjory said. ‘You expressed that you’d like to take a look around the house? Maybe we’ll start with that.’

They followed her through a set of double doors, leaving behind the gaunt, primitive entrance hall. Parvati took care of the chit chat, asking questions about the history of the house. Padma lingered behind them, observing the space and occasionally intervening with a question about the wards.

 _The home is the most intimate window into someone’s thoughts_. Padma’s eyes wandered over the murky corners. She wondered if the house was affecting her. This was a home that had been filled by one person’s thoughts for too long.

Despite the general cleanliness, the shadows that danced in the corners felt heavy with dark, cluttered feelings. If Hogwarts had held hundreds of students and the resulting spectrum of emotions, this house just gave off a thoroughly sad air. There were next to no personal items, and the few items that were there revealed what Padma had already guessed to be an intense obsession with Divination. Stories unfolded in front of her eyes of the inhabitant of the house, her lonely years spent wondering over the ways of fate.

They passed a stone staircase that looked as old as the house. The railing was chipped in a number of places, and the steps were worn smooth. Unlike the rest of the house, they were covered in a layer of dust so thick that Padma felt tempted to run a finger through it.

‘What’s up there?’ she asked.

‘Nothing special. Unused furniture, old boxes, that sort of thing. I’ve cut the whole upper part of the house off. There’s just no sense keeping that space livable when I have enough work on the ground floor to keep me busy,’ Marjory said. ‘I haven’t been up there for years. Five years ago, there was an irksome case of a Boggart – had to get the local Creatures Department to sort it out – and I don’t believe I’ve been up there since then.‘

‘There could be a weakness in the wards, if it hasn’t been looked at for that long a time,’ Padma pointed out.

‘I’m sure that’s possible,’ Marjory said, frowning. ‘But I’ve taken care that there’s a strong ward at the top of the staircase. Sometimes I hear a scratching noise from up there, but it’s bound to be nothing more than rats or squirrels. I feel quite safe.’

‘Well, if you’d like me to take a look at it, I’d be happy to,’ Padma said. She was no expert on warding, but she had decided that regardless of if the threatening letter turned out to be a prank, she wanted her client to get her money’s worth.

‘I’ll remember that, dear,’ Marjory said. ‘I had my wards checked a few months ago. They’re of the basic sort, but they shouldn’t let anyone except my chosen guests through.’

Padma nodded, satisfied with her answer. She checked off some questions off the list in her mind.

She didn’t know if Marjory was aware of the active Auror investigation that involved her. Padma tried to think of ways to bring the case up, without seeming too suspicious.

Normally, she would have done better research on her client, but the public archives had already been closed by the time Marjory left her office the night before. And she had also run all the ordinary Tracking Charms on the letter Marjory had left in her care, and to her surprise and slight unease, it had come out empty. If nothing else, it suggested that whoever had written it had put enough care to not be easily traced.

A freakish chime of a grandfather clock interrupted her thoughts. Padma’s heart nearly jumped to her throat. She hurried to catch up with Marjory and Parvati, a few steps ahead of her.

Marjory seemed unrattled, used to the sounds of the house. Padma and Parvati shared a look.

‘You live alone, right?’ Padma asked Marjory, eager to fill the echoing silence with something.

‘Oh yes,’ Marjory said.

‘Do you keep a house-elf?’

‘No, I let my house-elf go a long time ago. You must think it strange of me,’ she said. ‘I do have the money. But you see, it’s just me, up here. I can handle most things by myself, and if not, I get someone in from the village to help me.’

 _It keeps her busy_ , Padma thought.

‘There’s a fellow that brings my groceries twice a week,’ Marjory continued. ‘Sometimes I’ll visit the shops in the village. I go to Inverness for my yearly checkups with the Healers. Oh, and there’s a girl who comes to read with me once a week or so. But that’s really the lot of it. Mostly, I keep my own company.’

Padma wondered if behind her calm voice was in fact a deeply buried panic. Marjory was not young. Her days of solitude in the highlands were numbered. There would come a day where she would have to open her doors to help – Healers, assistants, Mediwizards – or she would die alone in her manor. But it was not Parma’s business to pry. 

They entered a more modern part of the house, but even it looked like it was stuck in the thirties. It reminded Padma of Pansy Parkinson’s house, which she had been forced to visit a few times as a child, because their fathers had shared some work acquaintances. Marjory led them along a narrow hallway of dozing portraits. The figures in the portraits barely lifted an eyelid as they passed. One gave them a tired smile. It looked like they hadn’t been talked to in a very long time.

‘My parents,’ Marjory said with a dull voice, introducing them with a swing of her shawl. ‘And my grandparents. And various aunts and uncles.’

‘You don’t have a portrait of your sister,’ Parvati said. 

The omission had bothered Padma as well, and she had been waiting for an opening in the conversation to bring it up. But Parvati, true to her nature, had gotten straight to the point.

‘We never had the chance to have one commissioned before her accident,’ Marjory said. ‘I would have done anything for Katherine’s portrait.’

‘Some people have them made afterwards,’ Parvati offered. But Marjory did not acknowledge her words.

Padma was struck by the image of Marjory, sitting by a portrait of her sister, spending day after day in conversation with a ghost from the past. It would be a lonely existence, but it couldn’t possibly be worse than the life Marjory appeared to lead right now.

‘We weren’t wealthy enough back then, for portraits,’ Marjory said. ‘Well, that’s not quite right. Katherine and I had money, but we could not access it at the time.

‘You see, my sister and I were very young when our parents died. We were left in the care of a distant aunt. The will was of a conditional kind, quite common amongst pureblood families of the time,’ Marjory said.

They had moved on from the portraits and were making their way towards the end of the hallway, where an archway opened to the right.

‘Let me guess: it was the kind that requires a man to manage a woman’s finances,’ Padma said, unable to keep the scorn from her voice.

Marjory didn’t seem bothered by her remark. ‘Yes, you’re right. Things have progressed quite a bit since then. But at the time, one of us needed to marry so that we could access what was in our vault.’

Padma nodded. She was uncertain that this had anything to do with the case, but was drawn in by Marjory’s story nonetheless. The world was probably full of those sad, curious tales: pureblood sorrows that no-one would ever hear about. Silences taken to the grave.

They had come to a room that was unlike the rest. This was a room that clearly received more time and care than any of the others. It had windows on two sides, letting in the gray light. A writing table sat in a dignified spot under the pool of light. Some papers were spread out and a delicate inkwell and neat row of quills were placed with care beside them. Bookshelves covered most of the room. They held a number of little knick knacks and the odd little trinket that one accumulates over a lifespan. Marjory seemed to have a fondness for crystal balls in varying sizes, and strange devices that Padma suspected were also used for divinatory purposes. In the corner across their little archway, she could see a door leading to the main hall.

It was only in contrast to this room that Padma realised how impersonal all the rest had felt.

Padma and Parvati seated themselves on a wide cream-coloured divan, and Marjory sat across them in an armchair.

‘I noticed yesterday you don’t have a strong accent. I take it you've lived somewhere else?’ Padma said, hoping to learn more about Marjory’s past.

‘Yes. We were young, Katherine and I, when we moved down south to England to live with great-aunt Beatrice. I lived there until my twenties.’

‘Until your sister married?’ Parvati asked. Marjory nodded.

‘It… wasn’t a happy marriage,’ Marjory said. ‘There weren’t many options for us, then. I was lucky to be invited to live with them – they certainly had the space and money. Katherine and I spent as much time as we could together, when her husband didn’t require her company.’

‘Did you keep in touch with your sister’s husband?’ Padma asked.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I didn’t care for him at all. We all went our separate ways after… what happened to Katherine. I had money, at this point. I don’t know what became of him afterwards.’

‘I’m sorry if I’m being nosy,’ Padma said softly. ‘But if you don’t mind me asking, how _did_ Katherine die?’

Marjory sighed. When she spoke, her words were weary. ‘I’ve never been able to understand why she went flying that day. Katherine wasn’t a very experienced flyer. She was usually accompanied by someone, but on that day she went alone. The broom was found in smithereens.’

Pearls of tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. She was completely still. Padma looked away, uncomfortable.

‘Is there anyone from your past, who might bear a grudge against you?’ Padma asked. It felt like she was walking a narrow line, and a wrong step would hurl her back to step one in building trust with her client. Marjory continued her silence, but her brows tightened into a thoughtful line.

Parvati started to fill the silence by rambling. ‘Maybe the note isn’t supposed to be threatening at all. Maybe someone just made an unfortunate word choice. Is there anyone at all who could be writing to you?’

Again, what Parvati said seemed to be the magic word, pulling Marjory out of the fog she had momentarily slipped into.

‘There was a friend of Katherine’s. Well, more a friend of her husband’s,’ Marjory said slowly. ‘His name was Gerald. He used to spend a lot of time with us, join us for dinner and the like. He wrote to me once, twenty years ago, and asked to see me in person. But I wrote back and told him I wanted nothing to do with him.’

She turned to Parvati.

‘You see, I’d left the south behind me,’ she said.

‘Very understandable,’ said Parvati in a gentle voice.

‘I felt as if it was better not to dig up the past. I had moved on. There’s nothing I could have said that would have helped him,’ she said, quite emphatically.

Just when Padma was about to ask if she suspected Gerald of having something to do with the current letter, Marjory shifted in her chair and stood up with surprising swiftness.

‘I’ll go make us some tea. It really is nasty weather outside. Don’t you feel a bit chilly?’

Padma was quite adept at Warming Charms, from years of living in a castle with a bad heating system, and didn’t care either way. She tried to bury her frustration as she watched Marjory slowly make her way to the archway out of the room. There was something Marjory wasn’t telling them about Katherine’s death, but Padma did not know whether it was just plain old grief or something else that held her back. 

Padma got up from her seat on the divan and started to make her way towards one of the bookcases.

‘Padma!’ Parvati whispered sharply. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m just having a look around,’ Padma said. ‘Warn me if she’s about to come back.’

She didn’t feel as flippant about it as her reply to Parvati implied. Her heart beat loudly enough that she imagined it being heard above her soft footsteps across the room.

Padma ran her fingers across the spines in the bookshelf. Most of them were spotless and dust-free despite their age, clearly in frequent use. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, but she kept an eye out for a bit of parchment sticking out, a book set askew, anything that could answer the questions rattling around in her mind.

She casually picked up a book off the shelf that was sticking out a little bit. _Esoteric Astrology_ was full of strange, astrological markings and tiny print. In the margins were calculations of some sort, written in faded ink.

Conscious that the clock was ticking, Padma moved to the small writing table. Her eyes scanned over the scattered pieces of parchment quickly. A list of groceries, the scrapings of a poem…

Then, her eye went to the wastepaper basket next to the desk. An envelope sat on top of the crumpled balls of paper, smooth and inviting. Padma couldn’t make out if it had been opened. She snatched it out just as she heard Marjory’s steps from the hallway. She rushed back to the divan, her finding burning in the pocket of her trousers.

Their host came in Levitating a tray stacked with heavy, rich scones, and a delicate teapot and cups.

Padma was starving. She filled her plate with two scones at once, deciding that while there was a risk it could be seen as a sign of rudeness, it could also be taken as appreciation to their host. She didn’t skimp on the raspberry jam and clotted cream.

Just as she was about to take a bite, the doorbell rang distantly. Padma and Parvati looked at each other in surprise.

‘I wonder who that could be…’ Marjory muttered, and with some effort, she put down her cup of tea. She got up and left through the door in the corner.

‘Miss Hermione!’ they heard her exclaim from the hall.

‘Marjory,’ Hermione’s voice rang, unnaturally bright. Padma could practically hear the sweet, artificial smile that was on her face. ‘I just came to say that I can’t do our usual time this Wednesday. I thought I’d just drop by – I was in Scotland for a work thing – no, I can’t stay for long…’

She sounded overly cheerful, but apparently Madam Macmillan found it convincing. Padma suddenly had a pretty good idea of who the _girl, who comes to read with me once a week_ was.

Marjory said something in a voice Padma couldn’t hear, and Hermione answered, ‘Guests? Oh, I won’t impose if you have company…’

Clearly, Marjory would have no such thing. She returned to the tea room, and Hermione followed. She at least had the decency to look sheepish.

She wasn’t wearing her Auror robes today, which was curious, if she indeed had been around the neighborhood for work. Padma recognised a familiar, worn knit jumper in faded hues of chestnut brown and blue. It looked beautiful on her, warm and cosy in the cold, stone house and Scottish landscape.

‘Oh, hello Parvati. Hello Padma,’ she said with feigned surprise. ‘How funny, running into you here, of all places. What brings you here?’ She gave Padma a friendly smile, as if she hadn’t threatened her the night before.

‘Missus Patils are helping me with a little problem,’ Marjory explained, and gave them a kind nod. Padma noticed she put on her gentle, old-lady-voice more strongly when she talked with Hermione. ‘Ah, but I suppose you must know each other from school,’ Marjory said, looking between them. She radiated an awkward energy again, but sliding back into the role of their hostess seemed to give her some confidence. She started shuffling about with the tea things.

‘Yes,’ Hermione said. ‘We were at Hogwarts at the same time. I shared a dormitory with Parvati. And Padma and I shared some classes.’

‘We did go to Auror training together, too,’ Padma said dryly, deciding she was not going to participate in whatever pretence Hermione was trying to drag her into. ‘Oh, well, there were so many of us in our year.’

Hermione blushed. Marjory didn’t look surprised. She must have known that Hermione was an Auror.

‘Hermione here comes to read with me, and sometimes to help me organise my library,’ she told Padma and Parvati.

‘Marjory has a wonderful library.’ Hermione gave their host a warm look. ‘I was gathering donations for a Ministry charity event some weeks ago. Marjory was good enough to donate, and I happened to notice her library – I was particularly impressed with the Divination section. And before I knew it, we had spent the next half-hour talking about books!’

Padma nearly snorted aloud, knowing exactly how high Hermione’s appreciation for the fine art of Divination was. It had been talk of the week in third year when Hermione had iconically walked out of Trelawney’s class.

‘So, what have you been talking about?’ Hermione said.

Really? This was how Hermione thought she would find out what they were doing?

‘There’s some tea and scones, dear,’ Marjory said to Hermione before Padma had to come up with an answer, and directed her into an empty armchair with a pat on her shoulder. ‘Please, help yourself.’

Padma took an angry bite of her second scone, sending a horde of crumbs onto her plate. She kept her narrowed eyes fixed on Hermione, who was making a show of pouring herself tea and praising Marjory’s scones. Padma still had questions she needed to ask Marjory, but Hermione’s presence put her on her guard.

It seemed that she wasn’t the only one.

Padma didn’t know if she imagined it, but their host almost seemed relieved to have a distraction. Marjory steered the conversation smoothly into some book she had lately purchased.

There was a flash of frustration on Hermione’s otherwise smooth features, which only Padma noticed.

***

‘Are you going to be like this from now on?’ Padma said to Hermione, when they heard the door close behind them and they stepped out into the drizzling grey world outside.

They began traipsing the muddy ground across Marjory’s yard towards the gate. The ground was slippery and springy from the rain. The gravel path that led across the yard had long since been overtaken by grass.

‘Like what? I was visiting my friend, as I do every week,’ Hermione said, glaring. She once again spoke with the cool, distant tone that she had used in Padma’s office.

‘Call it what you want, but I was trying to do my job there, which you made impossible.’

They had left quite soon after Hermione’s arrival. Padma hadn’t gotten anything new out of Marjory after Hermione’s appearance. Before their leave, she had taken Marjory aside to remind her one more time, that she needed to contact Padma immediately if she felt herself in danger.

‘Marjory _is_ my friend, of sorts. I really do go see her nearly every week,’ said Hermione.

 _Don’t you have a life?_ Padma thought uncharitably. And then, she reflected grumpily on how Hermione’s time management abilities were on an unfairly efficient level compared to everyone else.

‘I heard you talk about her safety. Is Marjory worried about something?’ Hermione said.

‘What do you think it was about?’ Padma asked, not feeling cooperative. ‘You know, I’d be more prone to sharing if you told us the reason you’re investigating her.’

‘That’s strictly Ministry business,’ said Hermione with a sniff.

Parvati interrupted their bickering with a shriek. ‘There’s someone over there!’

Padma looked up from her feet and saw a dark shadow behind the gate, tinkering with the door.

Hermione had her wand out in an instant. She pushed past them and ran to the gate, the tails of her cloak flapping behind her. She shouted _Aperio_ and the gate flew open.

Padma and Parvati rushed after her. Adrenaline throbbed in Padma’s veins, urging her on as she panted and strained to keep up with Hermione. The figure ran along the road. Hermione cast a Petrificus but missed.

They all heard the pop of Apparition. They made it out the gates a second later but it was too late.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ Parvati said. ‘I didn’t even believe Marjory about the threat. That was creepy.’

‘Any idea who that was?’ Padma said.

A cloud of worry shadowed Hermione’s features. She gave a slow shake of her head. Padma didn’t know if it was an answer to her question or just an expression of her own private musings.

‘Can we leave her alone? What if he comes back?’ Parvati said.

‘The wards…’ Padma began.

‘I took a look at the wards a couple weeks ago and made some improvements. They should be as safe as can be,’ Hermione said, still frowning. ‘Bút whoever he was, he clearly didn't expect company.’

Now that they were on the narrow, twisting road again, Padma didn’t relish the thought of the bus ride back. She was about to send out the call with her wand, but Hermione’s voice interrupted her.

‘There’s a pub with a Floo within Apparating distance,’ she said, as if she had seen the glum look on her face.

‘Thank Merlin,’ Parvati said, voicing Padma’s thoughts. Parvati was staring at her boots that had gathered a fair layer of mud on the way.

With some reluctance, Hermione offered her arms. Parvati grabbed onto Hermione’s other arm easily. Padma hesitated. Hermione held her arm at an awkward angle. It was clear she wasn’t keen on sharing any more time with them than she had to. Padma linked her arm with hers, feeling an uncomfortable grip at her heart, which was soon washed away by the bigger jolt of their sudden Apparition.

They appeared at a corner of a sturdy little pub. The sign was weather-beaten, no longer legible. It was one of those places that felt like it stood at the end of the world, characterised by the faint smell of fish and gulls screeching a piercing cry. From the icy wind, Padma knew that the sea was very close by.

She had no more appreciation for this kind of barren romance than she had had for Marjory’s house, but when they entered the pub, she was hit by a wave of warmth that made her want to melt into a gooey puddle. They received a few curious glares from the crown of old witches and wizards, who quickly returned to their hushed conversations.

‘We’re going to stop for lunch,’ Padma said. A menu was tacked up behind the bar. She took a cautious look at Hermione, trying to find an opening in her steel guard but spotting none. ‘Maybe… you’d like to join us?’

‘I have to head back,’ Hermione said. She didn’t explain further. ‘You can take the Floo to the Floo Centre in Inverness – that’ll be connected to the English network and will get you back to London.’

Thanks,’ Padma said. She ignored Parvati’s embarrassingly obvious gestures and glares. Hermione looked like she was done talking to them.

‘Nice to see you again, Parvati,’ Hermione said. She gave an awkward half-nod that looked like it could have been directed at Padma, but her eyes were firmly pinned on the bar counter. ‘Bye, then.’

Padma watched her disappear into the flames and tried not to acknowledge the sinking sense of disappointment that came over her. Instead, she directed her efforts at interacting with the gruff man who ran the bar.

Padma’s stomach had already forgotten about Marjory’s scones. She dug eagerly into her hot chips ladled with vinegar. They were a welcome distraction after all their hard work.

‘Are you going to tell me what happened between you two?’

Padma looked up to see Parvati giving her a concerned, yet curious look across the small table.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said, and took another chip between her fingers. The hot grease burned her fingers. Parvati snatched it from her before it reached her mouth.

‘Yes, you do,’ Parvati said. ‘The last time I saw you with Hermione was at Luna’s birthday party. You spent the entire evening glued at the hip. I remember you laughing like you were sharing the joke of the century, and considering how little you laugh in general, whatever you had going with her was good.’

‘That was ages ago,’ Padma said, angrily shoving another chip in her mouth. ‘We were just school friends. We haven’t been close since I quit the programme.’

‘What do you mean not close? Are you saying you haven’t talked to her _at all_ since then?’

Padma didn’t answer her question. ‘I don’t see why you should care. Besides, she has other friends. So do I.’

Parvati didn’t need to know that the last time she had seen any of her friends was almost three months ago, when she had still been riding the high of being a fresh business owner. When her business had begun to decline after barely starting to gather steam, she had been too embarrassed to contact any of her old friends from Ravenclaw. And in the weeks that followed, their letters had become more and more infrequent.

Parvati gave her another sharp look, but mercifully decided to drop the subject. ‘Well, you could have warned me that she’s working on the case as well. I suppose we’ll have to back off now that the Aurors are on it… I was really looking forward to having something to do. Y’know, yesterday I even offered to help Dad organise his music collection because I was so bored.’

Padma felt an uncomfortable prickling of her skin. She brought a hand instinctively to her neck and felt goosebumps. She turned around and in the corner of her eye, she caught a man staring at them.

She quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t seen her see him watch her.

An inexplicable panic filled her for a moment. Padma was used to being stared at when she was with Parvati, and deep in the Scottish highlands, in some godforsaken pub at the edge of the world, it was no surprise they were an object of interest even to the locals, who clearly liked to mind their own business.

But there had been something odd about the way his blue eyes – unnaturally blue – had bored into her.

Padma realised Parvati had been talking for the best part of a minute, and tried to bring her focus back.

‘It’s nice that they’re not charging rent and they’ve been good about it overall. Well, Mum does complain about how I never clean my room – as if I’m a teenager, honestly, but it feels suffocating sometimes. Like my life is on hold,’ Parvati said. ‘I can’t wait to move out again.’

***

A letter was waiting for her when she came home. She recognised her father’s insignia from the seal, and her heart sank a little. She snatched it off the table, sending some crumbs dancing to the floor, and retreated to her room-cupboard.

_Dear Padma,_

_Is it really so much to ask for our daughter to check in with her parents? I know you must be busy with cases, but it would mean a lot for your mother if you could let us know how you are doing. It would be much nicer to hear from yourself than from your sister, and it’s been at least two weeks since you last visited for dinner._

_I admire your drive – I was too very driven at your age. But keep in mind that too much dedication is just stubbornness if it doesn’t amount to useful results._

_Do remember that my old colleague Mister Saidi at the Accounting Department will take you on as an apprentice, should you run into financial difficulties. You’ve always been a clever girl. I’m sure they could do with your wit at the department._

_Awaiting your reply and your visit,  
Dad_

Hands shaking, Padma folded the letter and calmly put it among her other things, resisting the urge to _Incendio_ it. She didn’t know why interacting with her father always caused such a childish reaction in her. His words had a way of piercing her emotional walls, unveiling an upset five-year-old Padma she unwillingly still carried around inside her.

Most infuriating were the contradictions that existed in the way he treated her. On one hand, she was the golden child and he let her know that. He was full of pride at her grades and her independence, and never seemed to require anything of her.

But at the same time, he didn’t trust her to make good choices in her life. She felt a quiet anger at his implied demands, and at the ‘I love you’s he said, when all he had ever been during her life was unavailable. He may have asked how she was doing, but in reality, he always stopped listening after a certain point. 

How was Padma really doing? Was she happy? Did she truly feel well, or were the walls of her life were caving in?

Those were things she hoped he would ask, instead of stupid questions about her business and career.

An angry weariness fell over her, washing away all the feelings of achievement from the day.

It’s not like at the age of twenty-one, Padma couldn’t see through some of her father’s bullshit. She knew that what had been told to them as a story of determination, sharp wit and perseverance was really that of a twenty-something Indian pureblood wizard of a somewhat privileged background using his parents’ money to make a study trip to London. He had met their mother – an Indian half-blood witch born in Britain – at his internship at a magical financial firm. The internship had extended into a job, eventually a career and a marriage with two kids.

It wasn’t exactly a fanciful story of rags to riches, but the fact remained that her parents had been successful somewhat young. Remaining moderately conservative, they put high value on financial stability, frequently making it clear how they'd given their daughters a head start in life. They sure as hell expected them to not throw it away. Parvati had failed, but Padma had failed worse, because no-one had expected much from Parvati, and everyone expected everything from Padma.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

She was running through wild moorlands. The ground was uneven with grass and rock, but her feet seemed to be flying a few inches above it. And yet, every step was a struggle, like she was swimming through porridge.

Padma didn’t know why she was running, but she knew with a sureness that she was running _after_ something, not away from something.

The terrain was becoming even more rugged. Bent, wrought iron gates jumped in her way. They seemed to appear in front of her out of nowhere, causing her to slip and fall and scramble back up again every time she didn’t react on time.

And then she saw a figure ahead of her, in a forest-green cloak, running with playfulness and ease as if part of the green scenery around her. She felt an aching need, and hastened her steps.

She was close now. The figure seemed to be slowing down. And suddenly, the hood fell off her face, revealing a flash of brown skin and unruly curls.

Padma woke up tangled in her blanket. Her breathing was heavy, but calmed down a little as she took in the sight of her familiar room. After a second, still mired in the last details of the dream, she rolled out of her narrow bed, mostly a jumble of nerves and cold sweat but also carrying a new determination.

She didn’t want to avoid Hermione anymore. She knew that today was the day when she needed to dig up that hiding Gryffindor courage she was sporadically able to access. How much of her determination was self-punishment, how much a legitimate need to make progress with the case, she didn’t know.

The more she thought about it, the more she dreaded it, so she pushed it forcefully out of her mind and started to get on with her day. It kept creeping back. When Padma returned with breakfast and laid out her notebook and self-inking quill in her bed – deciding she’d work the morning from home – she had gone through at least a dozen different outcomes, and her heart was fluttering with nerves.

The envelope she had picked up from Marjory’s waste basket was a disappointment. It had been empty – Padma hadn’t really expected otherwise – but she had run her regular set of spells on it anyway. She felt a little guilty for digging through an old lady’s trash, but she had found out an interesting little detail.

Whoever had sent Marjory a letter in this envelope had been a lot more careless than the person who had sent her the threatening note. The envelope reeked of sloppy magic. Her client didn't owe them every detail of her life, but Padma found it curious that Marjory, who had claimed to barely have a social life, was in correspondence with someone she hadn't mentioned.

Unfortunately, her list of possible suspects was a bit pitiful in its shortness, but she wrote it anyway to keep her hands busy while she let her mind roam free.

 _boys from the village – prank?_ – She needed to address this option at some point, if only to rule it out. Padma didn’t look forward to interviewing the silent bunch she had seen in the pub.  
_Katherine’s husband_ – Marjory seemed reluctant to talk about him, which made Padma want to find out everything that had truly gone on. Pureblood marriages were well documented. She would undoubtedly find more information in the Ministry’s public archives.  
_Gerald_ – Whoever he was, Marjory clearly wasn’t enthusiastic about him.

It wasn’t a lot, but her brain had barely started to process all the data she had subconsciously picked up during their visit yesterday. Padma was capable of making connections, seeing patterns where none were apparent, and picking up the lack of things that were obviously missing – but only if she gave herself some time.

Once she could no longer think of a good reason to not leave her home, she packed her things and put on her cloak.

Instead of taking the familiar route to the Leaky, she dragged herself down a Muggle street, where a shabby, red telephone box awaited.

Dean Thomas waved at her when she entered the Department. He looked so genuinely happy to see her that Padma couldn’t help but smile and nod in return. Dean had been one of her comrades during Auror training, another introvert in a pack of lions. Although Dean had been more used to his rowdy coursemates from his time at Hogwarts.

Now, he looked pleased to be following a senior Auror towards the Apparition point. ‘My first big case,’ he mouthed at Padma, pointing at the Auror’s back, and Padma flashed him another strained smile.

She shuffled through past the mostly empty desks. It didn’t seem like a popular day for desk work. Padma wondered if she had braved facing the past on the wrong day, if Hermione wasn’t even in.

She spotted a head of dark curls in a forgotten corner of the open office space where less-senior Aurors took residence. Hermione was half-hidden behind a tower of books and papers.

The desk was messier than Padma expected. She had become closely acquainted with Hermione’s rigorous and neat note-taking during their shared classes along the years, and the chaos of folders and papers crammed with notes seemed to be in contrast with the Hermione she knew. There was a tea mug the size of a baby’s head on top of some books. In frames of different sizes, she had a picture of her parents – Muggle based on the stillness – another of Harry, Ron and herself, and one of a large orange blob that was probably her cat. At a glance, it looked like she was writing something, but when Padma looked closer, she saw that Hermione was doodling spirals to the margin of her notebook.

‘Office day, then?’ Padma said.

Hermione looked up from her papers, startled.

‘Oh! Yes… I have a lot of paperwork today. I have to get it done at some point, and I figured now’s as good a time as ever.’ She pushed the notebook with its spirals under the closest folder, and Padma winced at the thought of fresh ink staining the bottom of whatever report folder it was.

‘Would you like to go out for lunch?’ Padma said. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her trousers and avoided looking directly at Hermione, trying to feel less like she was asking the other woman out.

The longer the silence stretched, the more Padma felt as if there was something unpleasant crawling on her skin. She resisted the urge to fidget or turn around and run out the door.

After a moment Hermione nodded. ‘Yes, why not. I need to get out of this place, anyway.’

She stood and grabbed her coat off the back of her chair.

Suddenly faced with the very real presence of Hermione, all the thoughts Padma had been having since the morning vanished into the same obscure cloud of nonsense where her overactive imagination liked to churn out its brilliant, brilliant, stupid ideas. Her brain had been having a field day with a number of foolishly hopeful speculations – ideas of how easy it would be to talk things over, how their friendship could just pick up from where Padma dumped it months ago. With every footstep, it was becoming more obvious that there would be very little talking – not if Padma didn’t do something about it.

‘Where do you want to go? I’m fine with the Ministry cafeteria, if that’s what you want,’ Padma said, and braved a side-glance at Hermione. The meals were overpriced for non-Ministry employees, but Padma knew that as an Auror, Hermione probably preferred it these days.

Early in their friendship during Auror training, they had discovered they both preferred to keep a distance from the rowdy break room. They had taken most of their meals – boxed leftovers and sandwiches, usually – together in some quiet nook of the Auror’s offices, or in a nearby park if the unpredictable London weather allowed it.

‘It’s been a bit of a shit day, actually,’ Hermione said. ‘I could do with some cheering up. Let’s go out.’

‘Sure.’

The silence that followed felt less piercing when they left the Ministry Atrium and navigated through the graffiti-stained alley onto the busy main street. The quality of the silence had changed. It no longer felt as intensely loaded with tension, and was now charged with some new, restless energy that Padma couldn’t put a finger on.

They walked side-by-side when the crowds permitted. The air was crisp with a hint of early September. The streets were busy with Muggles in their dull-coloured clothing, their proper briefcases and suits, rushing to their lunch meetings and... whatever vague concepts of Muggle activities Padma’s limited imagination could offer. The honking and roaring of the traffic offered a comfortable space in which talking wasn’t necessary.

They wandered around, walking past several cafes and burger places, neither of them taking particular initiative to make a decision.

They walked past an Indian restaurant, one of the small places that favoured takeaway but hosted a couple of tables for lunch timers. It said ‘Namaskar’ in plastic letters and had a flashing sign that read, ‘OPEN’ – the sort of place that seemed to pop up like a mushroom on every street.

Padma realised that both their eyes had gone to it as they walked past, and they had started to slow their steps in wordless agreement.

‘Maybe—’

‘Should we—’

‘Yes,’ Hermione said, and Padma had the chance to glimpse half a smile on her face, before she pushed through the swinging door. It had been an exasperated one, but a smile nonetheless.

‘It’s not _real_ Indian food, my dad always says,’ Padma explained as they ordered. ‘But I like it anyway. I mean, depending on the restaurant, it’s greasier than we eat at home, and it can be a bit bland unless you know to ask for proper spices, but it’s sort of a guilty pleasure,’ She was pretty sure she had told Hermione the exact same thing at some point of their friendship, but Hermione didn’t seem to mind hearing it again – she didn’t look directly at Padma, but the hint of a smile still played at the corners of her lips.

Padma went on to talk about the foods she enjoyed as a child, well aware that she was rambling, but glad to have found a safe topic for now.

Hermione answered in short, friendly sentences. Padma had the sense that their conversation was a little like playing parts in a play, but it didn’t matter. It was better than any of the words that had taken place between them in the last two days.

‘I could invite you over sometime, for dinner,’ she said. ‘You might have to endure small talk with my middle-aged, desi parents, but you’ll get a good meal out of it.’

Whatever mysterious force made such words come out of her mouth made her want to curse. But to her surprise, Hermione gave her a small grin.

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ she said.

Padma felt herself blush, and avoided looking at Hermione as they made their way to the window. They sat across each other at the only table by the window.

The sight of the blinking sign through the window brought back memories from along the years. The wizarding Indian community in Britain was pretty small. Her family often spent their festivals joining the larger celebrations of the Muggle Indian communities in London. It was always an interesting affair, particularly with her father, whose attempts at making small talk about Muggle topics were met with amusement.

Padma’s other brief contact with Muggle culture had been as a child through her maternal grandfather. Before he had passed away, he had liked to steal his granddaughters away for a day to experience Muggle things. They had been special memories and Muggle items still held a magical sort of appeal to her.

‘My parents were sort of health freaks, so I was brought up on vegetables and meals of balanced fats and protein,’ Hermione said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I have to respect them for it, a little bit, although I remember being very resentful as a child when my classmates would have biscuits and sweets at school. I was only allowed to eat sweets on my birthday and Christmas. But as a result, I don't really have a sweet tooth at all, so I suppose it was a good thing.’

‘But you take sugar in your tea,’ Padma noted.

‘Oh, you’ve noticed?’ Hermione said, and Padma wished she hadn't said anything. It was like she had just given away something. ‘Well, you’re a detective. So of course you’re perceptive.’

‘I don't care for sweet flavours either,’ Padma said, trying to divert the conversation.

She grabbed a nearby napkin and started to fiddle with it. Hermione’s gaze drifted to the blinking menu above the cashier’s counter, and her brow scrunched slightly, as if she was very intent on reading the menu again.

Hermione’s coat that was perched on the back of her chair. She was wearing one of her characteristic knits in colours of autumn, and a crisp, cream-coloured collar peeked from underneath. It brought to Padma’s mind the feeling of a new term, fresh with rains, musky-sweet fallen leaves and possibility. Her appearance made a grounding contrast with the restaurant, which was all plastic, artificial colours and unnatural angles.

Hermione turned to look at her sharply and Padma realised she had been caught staring. She also realised there was a pile of shreds of napkin in front of her, which she hastily brushed to the side.

Their meals arrived, providing a convenient distraction to the oddly intense moment.

Padma dug into her delicious murgh makhani and rice, wondering how she would bring up the case, but also knowing that she didn’t want to say anything that could fuck up the delicate potential that was suddenly in the air. She was aching to ask more about Marjory – their meeting at Macmillan house had left her full of unanswered questions – but she didn’t want to sound like the only reason she wanted to meet was to leech off Hermione’s knowledge.

‘So, how’s the detective business?’ Hermione asked after a few bites in silence. Her smile was strained: she had probably been thinking of a way to avoid the topic, but hadn’t come up with any.

Perhaps out of shame, or perhaps out of some wish to spare Hermione’s feelings, Padma hesitated. She tried to think of how to make her situation sound presentable and was surprised when different words came out of mouth.

‘Turns out I know nothing about running a business,’ Padma said. ‘I can’t say it’s been all cauldron cake. There’s so much marketing involved – I was mad to start without any Auror experience. But I’m pulling through.’

She tried to make a laugh of it, but it came out forced. Her words hit too close to home. Hermione’s expression was hard to decipher.

‘And the Aurors? Is it everything you hoped it would be?’ Padma asked, deciding it was enough about her.

Padma knew the answer before Hermione opened her mouth. She was quiet for a long time, and twirled her fork in her dhal, looking pensive. It reminded Padma of all the spirals she had seen in her notebook.

‘Oh, you know. They don’t let us do much yet, as juniors, and there’s much more paperwork than I thought – the seniors really seem to like to dump all of their most boring reports for us to look through,’ Hermione eventually said. ‘I don’t mind. I enjoy writing, but sometimes it can get a little monotonous. But I do get out in the field, too. That’s always refreshing.’

‘Like with what you’re doing with Marjory,’ Padma said, nodding. ‘I was surprised to see you alone, but I suppose they wouldn’t want you there with your partner when that could blow your cover.’

‘Yes, exactly,’ Hermione said with an odd sort of shrug.

> Image Description: A drawing of Hermione and Padma seated across from each other at a fast food restaurant. Padma is wearing her hair clipped back, with a brown flannel top tucked into brown pants. Hermione is wearing her hair in a bun and a comfortable sweater with high waisted and belted tan pants. There is food between them and they seem to be enjoying a comfortable silence. The restaurant name, 'Namaskar' can be seen printed on the glass window they are sitting in front of. Art by tonftyhw. End description.

It felt like they had gotten something out of the way – for now, at least. Padma took a breath of relief and returned to her food again. She nearly spat out her mouthful when she heard Hermione’s next words.

‘Maybe we could work together on the case?’

Padma hadn’t been expecting that. ‘What?’

She searched Hermione’s eyes, hoping they would betray some hidden message, but the only thing they revealed was a painful sort of hope.

_Why? Are you really going to let me back, just like that?_

Padma considered her options. She would have never let Hermione in on it, but actually, it was useful to have someone inside the Ministry helping her. It would make it much easier to access the Ministry archives, and bend the rules, where necessary.

She knew she had already made the decision from the way her heartbeat hammered in her ears. She gave the other tables a quick glance and pulled out her wand to cast an inconspicuous Muffliato, before quickly pocketing her wand again.

Padma started to fill Hermione in on the letter, and the reason Marjory had hired her.

‘What I find interesting is why she didn’t ask you to help her in the first place,’ Padma said, after Hermione was all caught up. ‘She knows you’re an Auror. You would have been the obvious first choice to turn to. Unless she doesn’t want the Aurors involved.’

Hermione’s mouth twisted into a frown. ‘Now that I know why she contacted you, I can’t help but wonder about that too.’

‘I would like to put it down to general mistrust towards the Aurors after the way they handled her sister’s death,’ she continued, after a second of considering her words, ‘but it doesn’t sound quite right to me.’

‘Maybe she read it in her tarot cards, or something,’ Padma said, a little bit horrified at herself for letting such a belittling comment about her client come out of her mouth.

Hermione snorted, and Padma felt a rush of warmth pass through her as their eyes connected over the table in amusement at the expense of Marjory’s less-intellectual hobbies. ‘Maybe… She _is_ a bit of a romantic, so I wouldn’t put it past her.’

‘So, why are you investigating her?’ Padma asked quickly, hoping third time was the charm.

‘It wasn’t Marjory I was interested in, at first,’ Hermione explained. As she spoke she leaned instinctively closer to Padma across the table. ‘The case, the _old_ case, is about Marjory’s sister Katherine.’

‘The one who died long ago?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione said. ‘Her death was pinned down as an accident at first, but there were a lot of unknowns, and eventually they changed the verdict to murder. A friend of Katherine’s husband was sent to Azkaban for killing her. I have the files from the trial – I can send you copies.’

‘So, you’re trying to uncover what happened in the case, back then, over thirty years ago?’ Padma asked. ‘Isn’t that a bit…’ _of a fool’s errand_ , she wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words she was looking for.

‘Desperate?’ Hermione finished for her. ‘Perhaps, but not impossible. When I realised her sister was still alive, I looked her up. I’ve been getting to know Marjory ever since.’

‘You mean you’ve been letting a lonely old woman believe you’re there to chat about books,’ Padma said, pinning Hermione with her gaze and allowing a corner of her mouth to rise.

‘Well… yes. You’re not wrong,’ Hermione said, meeting her teasing smile with her variation of a smirk. ‘I’ve been trying to get her to warm up to me so that she would open up about the past. I was hoping she might want to talk to me, knowing that I’m an Auror. And hey, she’s barely seventy!’ she said with a scolding smile. ‘She’s not old.’

Hermione glanced at her watch. ‘Shit, I have to go. I’ll owl you a copy of my notes, okay? And we’ll be in touch!’

She got up and started to put on her coat.

‘Padma?’

‘Yeah?’ Padma looked up to see her watching her in a curious way. Her cheeks were rosy, but perhaps it was just the red light from the sign outside.

‘Nevermind,’ Hermione said. A cool awkwardness had crept back into her voice. She tied her scarf around her neck, seeming to gather her words. ‘The Ministry can’t know that I’ve been sharing information about the case, alright?’

‘Of course,’ Padma said quickly.

Hermione rushed out in a flurry. The ‘it was lovely to see you’ that Padma had been urging herself to say died on her lips.

She shoved a cooled-down bit of naan into her mouth and absentmindedly chewed on it as she tried, in a dazed shock, to process how nothing had gone as she had planned. In a way, everything had gone better than expected.

When she left the restaurant, the streets seemed brighter in a way that both excited and frightened her a little bit. It was how the world became for her, sometimes, when she was feeling intensely but didn’t quite know what she was feeling. It was as if her feelings took shape outside her and made everything shine like in a dream.

Despite this slight disorientation, when she headed through the crowded streets with Knockturn Alley and her office in her sights, there was a spring to her steps that hadn’t been there that morning before she met Hermione.

***

It shouldn’t have bothered her here, five hundred miles away and in the near-safety of Knockturn Alley, but Padma couldn’t help but feel a little restless about the man they had seen lurking around the gates of Macmillan house.

She was more than a little anxious that she was putting her efforts into the wrong place. Logically, she knew she couldn’t spend her work days guarding Macmillan house – it wasn’t what she was getting paid for. But every moment spent gathering information in London was a moment that the possible perpetrator could be breaking into her house and doing Merlin knew what to Marjory.

True to her word, Hermione had gotten straight to business. When Padma returned to her desk, an owl rapped behind her window, holding a stack of papers that Hermione had hopefully charmed to be Feather-Light, because it looked at least as heavy as the poor owl.

She relieved the owl of its burden and ignored the whiff of rancid air that came in from the alley with the bins. Holding the package, she couldn’t stop her mouth from twisting into a grin at the work ahead of her.

When Parvati came in some time later, she stopped in her tracks when she saw Padma’s work beside the sitting area.

‘Whoa,’ she said, trailing the wall up to the ceiling with her gaze. ‘Impressive. Kind of reminds me of what your side of the bedroom looked like the summer before O.W.L.s.’

Padma was too excited to call out her sarcasm. When she had started going through Hermione’s notes, she had realised that she needed a proper way to organise them. She had made copies of the couple of pages she was finished with and enlarged them along with her own notes. Gently glowing, colour-coded Light Charms ran across the wall, combining related pieces of data. She had dreamed of having a board like this that the detectives in the stories she had grown up reading always had, but none of her cases so far had warranted quite as large a show.

‘Look at this.’ She flashed a smug smirk at Parvati.

With a cool flick of her wand, the magical mind map disappeared. They were left staring at the off-white wallpaper that was frayed around parts. She flicked her wand another time and it was back again. ‘Come on, give me your wand,’ Padma said. ‘I’ll adjust it to respond to yours as well.’

Parvati dug her wand out of her pocket. Padma began to tinker with it. ‘Where have you been, by the way?’ she asked Parvati. ‘You can’t leave the office empty.’

‘Don’t look at me like that. I was here all morning. When you didn’t show up, I eventually went for a late lunch,’ Parvati huffed.

Padma felt a small flush of shame.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been busy.’

‘I can see that,’ Parvati said, giving another appreciative stare at the wall. ‘I can’t imagine what changed since yesterday.’

‘Hmmne,’ Padma mumbled. Her quill was sticking from her mouth as she attached another one of her notes with a bit of Spellotape.

‘What?’

‘Hermione,’ Padma repeated, laying down the quill. She kept her eyes fixed on the wall, not wanting to encourage further questions. She was worried for a second that Parvati would want to talk about _feelings_.

But Parvati acknowledged her words with a silent raise of an eyebrow. 

Padma threw a folder in her direction.

‘If you want to make yourself useful,’ Padma said, ‘see if there’s anything interesting in there.’

She returned to the pages she had been reading. It was Hermione’s notes from her weeks of visiting Marjory. Her beautiful, neat cursive ran across the pages. Padma carefully absorbed every word, and pretended that her rush of jittery excitement had little to do with being privy to Hermione’s private thoughts again.

‘Do you think they were in love?’

Parvati’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘Who?’ Padma said.

‘Marjory and Gerald,’ Parvati said. ‘The way he’s looking at her in this picture is _heartbreaking_.’

Padma got up from her end of the sofa and was at Parvati’s side in an instant. She snatched the small piece of paper from her hand.

It was a faded cut-out from the _Prophet_. Fresh ink in the corner in Hermione’s handwriting revealed the date: June 30th, 1963. Padma’s eyes went to the photo in question.

It was a close-up from the trial. A young man was seated in the front of the room, throwing a pleading look at the audience. The man’s appearance didn’t work in his favour. He had a rugged sort of look, like a wild dog. His blue eyes were hooded by a severe brow and a bush of eyebrows. Tears streaked his face, the only obvious signal pointing to Parvati’s heartbreaking love.

Padma spared a quick glance at the caption and confirmed the name: Gerald Selwyn. The man Marjory had offhandedly mentioned having contacted her, on trial for her twin sister’s murder.

She searched the image again, following the trail from Gerald’s gaze into the nearby audience. Young Marjory was easy to recognise. Wild, brown locks framed her face and her features had the same elegant, unassumed beauty, although at the time of the photograph she looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. Padma felt an uncomfortable tug at her heart at her hollow eyes and the way her lips were tightened into an emotionless line. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it felt like, losing the only person one cared about in the world. It was a personal tragedy, not something that touched everyone, like the war. Something that no-one but those who were there could ever come to understand.

At a second glance, it looked like Marjory was seized with terror. There was shuffling and motion in the crowd around her, but Marjory was absolutely still, grasping the front of her dress as if she had difficulty breathing. The only other person still in the photograph was the man next to her.

There, staring her square in the face was Roy Travers.

Padma let out a small gasp. She wouldn’t have recognised him if she hadn’t just recently seen a picture of him. Even forty years younger, he had the signature air of expensiveness, the numerous rings and the cut of his robes. The sharp nose looked somehow more severe on his young face. His balding had begun in his late twenties

Unlike most people in the picture, Travers was not looking at the suffering man in the centre. The way he was turned to Marjory gave the illusion that he was staring straight into the camera. The way his cold eyes were fixed on her sent an unpleasant shiver through Padma’s body.

She scanned the article quickly.

_SELWYN SENTENCED FOR DEATH OF KATHERINE TRAVERS_

_In yesterday’s hearing, Gerald Adrian Selwyn faced trial for murder of his best friend’s wife. The court ruled Selwyn guilty, sentencing him to twenty years in Azkaban, and bringing closure to the nightmare that has been Roy Travers' life since his beloved wife's death._

Next to this was Hermione’s scrawl, ‘ _moved to NL in 1964_ ’.

_It was a tragic afternoon in Berkshire four weeks ago, when Katherine Travers took the fateful flying trip that would be her last._

_Freshly married, Katherine had just moved to Berkshire, where, according to her husband Roy, she had just been living the “happiest days of her life”. The young couple was known to enjoy broom rides together._

_Had it not been for an urgent business meeting, he would have taken her out for a spin later that day on the new racing broom he had purchased. Perhaps then, Katherine would not have sat on the broom that turned out to be the instrument of her fateful death._

_Forensic Aurors have later tried to piece together what happened during Katherine’s last moments._

_In the initial investigation, the Aurors were all too happy to pass it as an accident, something Head Auror Avery, a friend of the Travers family, has later apologised for. Travers pressed on, demanding justice for his wife. It led to the reopening of the investigations, which finally revealed that the broom was not defected, but had been tampered with by the Dark Arts._

_The clue that led to a breakthrough in the case was examination of family friend Gerald Selwyn’s wand, which was found to be unambiguously responsible for the curses cast on Katherine’s broom._

_His arrest one week ago came to his family as a shock. Mother of the accused blames Travers for corrupting her son, saying that she “wouldn’t rule out the idea that Travers put murderous thoughts” into the mind of her son._

_During the trial, Selwyn pleaded his innocence and tried to find pity in his old friends._

_‘Marjory! I didn’t do it!’ he was heard saying over and over again, but his grating cries met no sympathy in twin sister of the deceased. ‘We had a plan! You know I’m innocent!’_

_Marjory Macmillan’s comment on his odd words was, ‘He’s clearly delusional. He must be mad from grief.’_

_The motives for the murder have not been discovered. Travers suspects jealousy, saying Selwyn was always around, even when he was not wanted. Selwyn was known to spend a notable amount of time with the two sisters._

_‘I’m too nice of a fellow to say no to my friends,’ Travers says. ‘The Selwyns are a respectable pureblood family, so I never suspected the horrible things running through Gerald’s mind. If I had, I would have never let him into my house.’_

_He became evasive when asked about how a friendship he had maintained years could have taken such a deadly turn. ‘We weren’t that close. We didn’t share opinions on many things, so our friendship was mostly for business. Sometimes we went flying together. I suppose he liked me for my brooms… and my wife.’_

_Katherine did not have many loved ones, but those she did are heartbroken with grief. Perhaps, the verdict will bring some peace of mind to her husband and her sister._

Padma put down the article in her lap and let the words sink in. A foggy murder and a sentence could have very well been influenced by Travers himself. And the cryptic _plan_ , Selwyn claimed to have had with Marjory… She was beginning to understand why Hermione was interested in this case.

Dumbly, she passed the article to Parvati, who had been reading it over her shoulder. She dug in the folder for more. There was a clipping from before the trial, dated four weeks earlier, titled _YOUNG WOMAN DIES IN TRAGIC BROOM ACCIDENT_. Padma skimmed it over quickly, but it didn’t reveal anything the previous article hadn’t.

She paused at the next one, which was just a couple of lines and was accompanied by a tiny picture of Travers and Katherine.

_TRAVERS MARRIES MACMILLAN_

_Roy Travers, notorious partier and younger son of Edward Travers, has recently married Scottish heiress Katherine Macmillan. The wedding was held in Berkshire, consisting of Travers’ family acquaintances and friends._

_The young couple has taken residence in Fairview Manor, one of the family manors where Travers was known to host evenings for his blood-purist club, Blood Brothers._

_‘It was just a joke,’ he has commented since the club disbanded. ‘We called it that, even when it had nothing to do with blood supremacy. In retrospect, I can see it was in bad taste.’_

_In the last few months, Travers has turned from his scandalous ways into a quieter way of life, limiting his vices to race brooms and quality spirits._

_‘I’m ready to leave the past behind me and settle down,’ he says. ‘And I couldn’t be more happy than doing it with my wife, Katherine.’_

Padma shuddered as she put down the article.

‘It’s pretty safe to say that whoever sent Marjory that letter didn’t do it for shits and giggles,’ Parvati said, meeting her eye. She sounded a little shaken.

‘Yeah,’ Padma said. ‘I think it’s safe to say that.’

‘Marjory said Gerald contacted her right after he was released from Azkaban. It could be him again,’ Parvati pondered aloud. She grabbed the roll of Spellotape from the table and got up from the sofa. Staring at the wall with a frown, she pinned the page she was holding to the board.

‘But what I don’t get is why now.’ She turned to Padma. ‘Everything happened so long ago. What could have changed?’

‘Travers just returned to England,’ Padma said. ‘That must have something to do with it.’

Parvati’s eyebrows rose in shock. ‘Do you think the letter was from him?’

‘Maybe,’ Padma said. ‘But it’s impossible to say anything before I’ve looked into it more.’

Maybe Katherine and Gerald indeed had an affair – that would have given several people enough motive to take a dark route… And Padma couldn’t help but wonder if Roy’s political inclinations had anything to do with the case. Maybe there was a more sinister reason as to why Katherine had been killed. Maybe now, the killer wanted to finish the job. Padma expected a long evening of coffee and reading.

She groaned, and ran her hand through her hair in frustration. ‘We should check up on her again tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Really, we should keep a watch on her all the time now that we know there might be a killer after her. But between the two of us and Hermione, I can’t see how we can manage that.’

As much as she wanted to keep Marjory safe, she didn’t particularly like the thought of standing – for Merlin knows how many days – in miserable Scottish weather to keep a watch on the house.

‘She didn't hire bodyguards, she hired you to solve this,’ Parvati said emphatically. ‘So you do that. I’ll go check on her tomorrow. While I’m there, I can talk to some locals, to find out if they’ve seen or heard anything suspicious.’

Padma felt a jolt of annoyance in her stomach, but pushed it down violently. She hated how this part of herself reared its head at the slightest chance that Parvati was taking something that was hers.

‘Thanks,’ she croaked, in the nicest way she could.

‘I can’t help but think about how young Marjory was when she lost Katherine. She was just our age and she was left with no-one in the world,’ said Parvati. She had a sad smile on her face. ‘It’s no wonder she doesn’t want to talk about it.’

‘But calling it an _accident_ , really?’ Padma said. ‘Murders are tragic, but wouldn’t you still call it by its name? Is she scared that we’ll dig into it? That we’ll not want to help her when we realise how messy her business is?’

‘Maybe she truly doesn’t want to bring up old memories. Maybe she can’t, even if she’d like to.’

‘Or maybe she’s hiding something,’ Padma said.

‘It's all starting to look a lot more serious than we thought,’ Parvati said.

‘Yeah,’ Padma agreed. ‘But at least we have a plan now. Find out what happened then, and we’ll find out who's after her now.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Padma’s investigative career had begun by reading Parvati’s diary.

It wasn’t her proudest moment. She had been ten. Parvati’s pink and glitter journal had held a magical appeal which was made all the more alluring by the tight guardianship Parvati had kept over it.

When Parvati had finally forgotten to put it away one day, she had caved into the itch. Padma had told herself her curiosity was justified; if there was anything written about her, she deserved to know.

The contents had been exactly what to expect from a child’s innermost thoughts: nothing special. Of course, there had been several comments about Padma that had made her blood boil at the time. How annoying, pushy, and dull she was. How Parvati didn’t understand her at all.

When she was caught, their mum had made Padma sweep the kitchen floors for the next two weeks, after a humiliating, tear-struck apology to Parvati, who had stopped talking to her for the next few days.

Padma didn’t know why that particular memory chose to surface right now.

Looking around her childhood home felt like reading that diary: inaccessible, full of thoughts and feelings that weren’t communicated to her or that she couldn’t relate to. Her mum had changed around the furniture again. Padma was forced to sit at a tight spot at the dining table, with too little space between her chair and the wall. She knew better than to ask why – it was impossible to prepare for the times her mum would take her words as criticism.

Or maybe it was just how childish and defeated she felt after a day of chasing leads that didn’t amount to anything.

She had been to the public archives in hopes that Hermione had overlooked something. Hermione had already tracked down who had been on the MLE at the time of the case, but everyone who was involved with the case had long since retired or passed away. Padma tried to find out if there was anyone from the trial that was still alive and could help her, but her search had been futile.

She had spent the rest of her day trying to find out everything she could about Gerald Selwyn and Roy Travers. Information on the former was scarce. 

There was plenty on Roy Travers, however, and it didn’t paint a pretty picture of him.

He had the usual track record of someone with too much money and a lust for excitement. Parties. Women. One arrest for assaulting a Muggle when he was just nineteen, bailed by his mother. He had calmed down and settled into the family business sometime in his mid-twenties. Padma had found nothing that would point her closer to Marjory’s letter.

When she had trudged back to the office, it felt like her whole day had amounted to nothing.

When Parvati had returned from Scotland – cheeks shining from all the fresh air – after a day of digging up local gossip and feeling generally useful, it had taken everything in Padma’s will to restrain from making annoyed remarks. She reminded herself that it had been her idea: it was optimising their resources to send the better talker out to talk with people and keep the better researcher where the information was.

Padma sighed, and tried to focus on her case notes again, although she knew she would soon have to put them away when dinner was served.

‘Padma Rani, come here,’ her mum said.

‘Don’t call me that,’ Padma grumbled. ‘You only call me Padma Rani when you’re angry.’

She put her notebook away and got up.

‘Your hair looks dry, beta, let me put some almond oil in it,’ her mum said.

Padma swatted her mum’s hand away, annoyed that she had been interrupted for nothing. She stroked a lock of her hair somewhat self-consciously.

‘Go tell your dad dinner’s ready,’ her mum said. Her look was half-amused, half-exasperated. ‘He’s in his office.’

Their house wasn’t particularly large, but it still felt spacious for the lack of unnecessary items. It was stylish on some level. Reds, whites and tones of brown showed up in predictable, impersonal elements that lost all their playfulness in how efficiently it was all arranged. Family heirlooms, few and carefully chosen to match the colour scheme, made up the only interesting items.

There were only two rooms in the house that didn’t scream her mum.

‘Hey daddy,’ Padma said.

She slipped into the small home-office that was her father’s domain. He was sitting at his desk, working with one of his Arithmancy devices that had always fascinated Padma as a child. She had spent many an hour sitting in the corner of the office, proudly pressing the buttons of a machine she had years later found out had been broken all along.

On the wall behind him was his record collection, his pride and joy, and next to him the reassuring sight of charmed parchments doing their calculations.

He got up from his chair and pulled her into an awkward hug that was more like a pat on the back.

‘So, Padma. How’s the business?’

It was a question she had been mentally preparing for, knowing and also hoping she would hear it.

‘We just got a big case,’ Padma said. She couldn’t help herself. She had considered keeping it private until she was further along, but it tumbled out in the presence of her father – besides, Parvati was sure to have talked about it by now. Padma disliked the way she always felt like she needed to justify herself to her parents, her father in particular, who seemed to take her answer with little acknowledgement.

‘That’s nice to hear, sweetheart,’ her father said absently. ‘Since you’re enjoying your detective thing, you might be interested to hear that there’s a curse breaking apprenticeship opening in the Security Department at the Ministry starting next January. They’re looking for a young recruit with a good head on her shoulders. You should apply to that.’

‘I just said I got a big case at work, Dad. Didn't you hear me?’ Padma said, trying not to let her frustration get the best of her.

He looked at her with one eyebrow raised, as if assessing her comment and then deciding to let it go. ‘It’s never a bad idea to start thinking about this kind of thing early on. Being a business owner is a respectable ambition, but it’s also very risky. You can always start your own business after you get married.’

He entirely disregarded the fact that it was her present, not her future that he was talking about. He was absent-minded when it came to the lives of his daughters. Yet, when the occasion came, he had a very clear vision of what was correct for them. Padma wanted to groan aloud. Talking with her dad felt like talking to a wall, except often she felt like she was the wall herself.

To his credit, at least he had asked something about herself, unlike her mum, who hadn’t asked at all.

‘If you need to borrow some money, just let me know,’ her dad said. ‘But remember, I won’t always be here to support you. We’ve brought you up to be a smart, resourceful girl.’

‘I have it under control. I just didn’t want to spend any extra on Portkeys, that’s all,’ she said through gritted teeth. She decided the attention had been on her long enough. ‘How are you?’

‘Listen to this album your uncle Raj sent me,’ he said. ‘That voice! She sings like an angel, doesn’t she?’ He turned up the volume with a swish of his wand.

‘You know I hate your music,’ retorted Padma.

‘You just haven’t developed good taste yet. You’ll appreciate it when you’re older,’ he said. He closed his eyes and swung his head to the music and Padma shook hers in amusement. The banterous atmosphere helped make up for his earlier words.

Sometimes Padma wondered what it would be like if she could sit her dad down with her and talk to him, _really_ talk to him. The most frustrating part was that he wasn’t even intentionally cruel. He seemed genuinely helpless when it came to human interaction, preferring his music and his work to talking about anything that actually meant something to Padma.

‘Come on, Mum said dinner’s nearly ready,’ Padma said.

***

Their house-elf Dopky had prepared a mouthwatering array of dishes, giving Padma at least one reason to be glad to be at home. She happily piled roti, subji and accompaniments onto her plate. It put to shame the meager sandwiches and pot noodles she was used to whipping up in the small kitchen at her flat.

She remembered the lunch she had shared with Hermione the other day and couldn’t help smiling a little.

‘What are you smiling about, Padma?’ Her mum stopped levitating a bowl of rice midair and was looking at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

‘Yeah Padma, tell them what you’re smiling about,’ Parvati said and gave her a teasing look across the table.

‘Nothing,’ Padma said. ‘It’s just some very good food, that’s all.’

‘Is it about a boy? Are you seeing someone?’

‘I knew it was a bad idea to let her live alone,’ her dad interjected, looking at his wife. He always famously said that _he_ had lived at home until he was twenty-four. Padma wasn’t sure if that was exactly a merit.

‘No!’ she said. ‘Stop asking me ridiculous questions.’

Padma focused on her food again, determined to avoid any uncomfortable topics for the rest of the evening. But the food had lost its flavour. Padma listened to her parents drone about the successes of this and that son or daughter of a distant relative, pretending each word didn’t feel like another direct hit at her failed career.

‘Padma, did you know your cousin Prakash got a promotion?’

‘Which company did he work for, again?’ Dad asked.

‘ _Emerald Investments_. They have a large branch in Australia,’ her mum said. ‘And, he’s getting married soon. His future wife is a Healer.’

He nodded, and took another bite of food.

‘He also didn’t have a war to fight,’ Padma muttered under her breath.

‘What?’

Padma pretended she hadn’t heard the question and dug back into her food, avoiding her mum’s glance.

‘When Parvati finishes her Healer training, we’ll have a Healer in the family too,’ Dad said, as if it hadn’t been months since she dropped out.

‘Sure, daddy,’ Parvati said. She looked at Padma across the table and rolled her eyes. Padma couldn’t understand how Parvati could do this every day and not lose her mind.

They had received the same upbringing – they were practically the same person if you ask relatives, or the Healers – yet Padma felt like an alien in her family, when Parvati was so normal, so sane.

Padma waited until her dad had left the table and got up.

‘Where are you going, Padma?’

‘I need to get something from my room.’

‘Well, don’t take too long, there’s dessert in fifteen,’ her mum said.

Padma half-ran upstairs, relieved to escape for a moment.

She slipped into her and Parvati’s old room, and closed the door behind her. She finally took a moment just to breathe.

After a few deep breaths, the room settled into place before her eyes.

Only Parvati lived there, now. Her sister’s belongings were piled unapologetically onto Padma’s side of the room: piles of clothing were stacked onto her old bed, crystals and other trinkets had claimed the top of her cupboard, and beauty potions and hair accessories were scattered on her desk. Padma had used to spend a lot of her time at that desk with her back turned to Parvati, grasping at the illusion of privacy. Their dad’s old radio was always turned on loudly whenever it was Padma’s turn to pick the station.

The remainders of Padma’s life – everything that didn’t currently live in the boxes in her flat she had been meaning to unpack for over a year now – were in the bookshelf in the corner. There were some of her less-loved novels and reference books that hadn’t been essential enough to take with her when she moved. There was the flute she had taken up on a whim and proceeded to hate for the next two years, now a mere dusty decoration. Her mum seemed to have placed some of her old toys there since the last time she visited. They sat there, neglected and forgotten. From the corner hung her old Ravenclaw tie, announcing her little corner of keepsakes.

She barely felt anything looking at her old room. It wasn’t home anymore. She had only been back a couple of times since she moved out. Her last proper memories of this room were from after the war ended: muddled, confused, heavy.

She had hidden herself in books, trying in the only way she knew to give Parvati space to mourn.

Lavender had passed away two months after the Battle of Hogwarts. The cause of death was an overdose of sedative potions. An investigation had been conducted on the nurse in charge of her, but no reason to suspect neglect or foul play had been found. The Aurors concluded that Lavender had taken the potions of her own volition. Whether it was suicide or the madness caused by the growing wolf within her was not known.

She had died a day before the full moon.

Now the room was empty of photos of Lavender, but heavy with her memory. Parvati had ripped them off the walls a few days after Lavender’s funeral and shoved them into the bottom drawer of her desk.

Automatically, Padma found herself crouching for them.

The photos in frames of different sizes were face down in the drawer. She took one off the top of the stack. It was from the start of fifth year, taken by their dad at King’s Cross. Lavender’s plump, smiling face stared at her in the picture. Her hair was freshly braided and a necklace Parvati had got her from India was jingling off her neck. Her arm was wrapped around Parvati. Even though all of them had spent that summer speculating Harry’s claims of You-Know-Who’s return, the Lavender and Parvati in this picture looked like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Padma startled as the door swung open.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Parvati’s face was stone-cold from fury. She stormed in and reached for the frame in Padma’s hands. It slipped to the floor and the glass cracked into pieces.

‘I can _Reparo_ that—’ Padma started.

‘Get out,’ Parvati said, pushing past her to pick up the photograph from the floor. ‘Get out!’

The door slammed behind her, ringing sharply in her ears. Somewhat mortified, Padma crept down the stairs back into the dining room.

‘Parvati doesn’t want dessert,’ Padma said when she slid back into her seat at the dining table.

A bowl of rice pudding appeared in front of her. Dopky hadn’t forgotten the generous pinch of chopped pistachios, just the way Padma liked it. She dug in and allowed the sweet milky taste soothe her nerves.

Her mum was seated across her. She spooned her pudding absently as she eyed some papers. Padma heard her let out a deep sigh and mumble something under her breath that sounded a lot like ‘why can’t at least one child be normal’.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, sweetheart.’

‘Where’s daddy?’

‘In his office. He had a Floo call he had to take. American office hours,’ she said, with a shrug.

‘Right,’ Padma said.

The clink of her spoon and occasional rustle of her mum’s papers felt loud in the silence between them, but Padma was too restless to fill the space with anything. It felt like her mum was lost in her own thoughts, anyway.

Everything was a cloudy mess – the case – Marjory’s part in it all – Parvati’s words. The pristine tabletop looked unnatural and odd in the sharp light. A cup of tea had appeared. Padma took a slurp and was met with a chiding look from her mum. She lowered her gaze back to her reading when Padma’s next sip was quieter.

Padma suddenly felt as if she had been required to talk, she would not have known how to form words. She tried to grasp onto anything in her surroundings that would help ground her racing thoughts, but nothing helped. She was reminded of Luna Lovegood’s Wrackspurts – she had once been given a full lecture on them in the Ravenclaw Common Room when she had been too nice to explain that she had just been on the way to her dormitory.

Padma put her cup down with a small _thud_ and got up.

‘Mum, I have to go.’

‘Now? It’s ten o’clock,’ her mum said, looking up from her reading. ‘There’s nowhere you could possibly need to be at this time.’

‘I’m almost twenty-two, Mum. For all you know, I could be going clubbing,’ Padma said.

‘Oh please,’ her mum said. ‘I know you. You’re probably going home to read a book.’

Padma didn’t correct her, and she didn’t ask again. Her mum didn't like to admit that her daughters were independent adults. She would have probably been more controlling if Padma hadn't started to put down her foot more often. But she was a little better at treating them as such than Dad, trying to display a different kind of trust than her own parents had with her.

Padma leaned down to place a kiss on her mum’s temple, said her goodbyes, and made her escape from the house.

***

The pub was empty but for a few lone figures by the second fireplace and the corners. It wasn’t surprising for a late Wednesday night, but in her romantic visions of the place, Padma had been imagining the same small crowd they had seen in the afternoon earlier that week. What else did people have to do in a place like this, except drink their sorrows away?

She loosened the scarf around her neck. Here, she felt like she could breathe a bit easier, some of the anxiety trickling off her back into the soothing, wooden floor.

‘What ken ah get ye, Miss?’

Padma shook her head at the bartender.

She looked around again, even though a part of her already knew that what she had been hoping to see wasn’t there.

Somewhere in the middle of panic and dissociation, her mind had made its wild leap of connection: a flash of blue eyes, staring at her from the corner of the pub through thick, black-gray hair. And the face of young Gerald Selwyn – less lined, less gray, but with the same pale blue eyes softening his tormented features.

Padma didn’t know if her idea was completely mad, but she had learned to trust her hunches. He wasn’t here today, however.

She glanced at the door. It was hopeless to think of sleep in the state of tension she was in. She needed air.

Outside, she was hit by a howling, biting wind. Padma pulled her cloak closer to her and tried to stop her teeth from clattering as she uttered a quick Warming Charm. She wished she had brought a heftier cloak. She should have known it would be freezing in the Highlands.

Padma Apparated. She missed the road by a few yards.

The wind was weaker here, quelled by the hills that stood guard around Macmillan House. It was almost eerily quiet – Padma was aware of every crunch that her boots were making on the frosty heath as she made her stride to the road.

It was impossible to think that anyone would choose to live here. Alone, with nothing but the cold moon to keep one company.

She didn’t bother with a Lumos as she approached the house: the moon was bright and full. The house made a forbidding silhouette under its light.

Calmer than before, Padma was starting to feel stupid. It made no sense to come all the way up to Scotland for a midnight stroll. She had just wanted to achieve something after the trainwreck of a day.

Padma’s heart nearly stopped when she saw the house more closely.

There was a faint light flickering from one of the upstairs windows.

She had to blink twice before she believed her eyes. It was still there. It moved along, disappeared for a moment between the windows, but appeared again in the next one.

 _It must be Marjory_ , Padma thought, her heart drumming fiercely against her ribcage. _She’s checking up on the wards._

Then, the light disappeared.

Padma realised she was gripping her wand hard enough that her hand ached, and she loosened her hold on it. She stood for several minutes, growing cold in the numbing air, hoping to see the light again.

Until finally, cold and weary, Padma Disapparated.

***

‘I don’t know if I should tell Marjory,’ Padma said. ‘I just froze. Well, it was also really fucking freezing out there, so I was actually shaking from cold, but metaphorically, I froze and I still have no idea what I should have done.’

Here in London, and during daytime, it was hard to make sense of the experience she had had the night before.

‘This is why I never became an Auror,’ she continued. ‘I hate making decisions that involve people’s lives. That, and the exercise.’

Hermione was just back from her morning jog. She had told Padma to meet her on her street in the Muggle neighborhood where she lived. Pearls of sweat glistened on her forehead, which she brushed off carelessly.

‘It isn’t so bad. You should try it sometime. I’ve started to enjoy my runs,’ Hermione said. ‘Robards is rather adamant his Aurors don’t _turn into custard_. I tried the Ministry gym for a while, but I could do without McLaggen ogling at my arse every morning.’

‘Cormac McLaggen, isn’t he in the Department of—’

‘Magical Games and Sports, yes. But he seems to have made it his habit to use the MLE gym and I can’t stop him, because technically it’s available to all Ministry employees,’ Hermione said, her face twisting into a wince. ‘He comes there to enjoy the view, mostly.’

They had arrived at Hermione’s door, a quaint red door in the row of narrow houses. Hermione dug out her keys.

‘Sorry, you were talking about Marjory,’ Hermione said.

‘I can’t help thinking that I should have done something,’ Padma said with a sigh. ‘But it was the middle of the night. Whoever it was, I could have given Marjory a heart attack by showing up.’

‘I think you should ask her the next time you visit. But not too directly,’ Hermione said. ‘She can be a little frustrating.’

‘It’s a bloody nuisance that she doesn’t have a Floo. Who on earth doesn’t have a Floo?’

As Padma stepped over the threshold, she may have been imagining it, but she felt a momentous tingle throughout her body. Throughout Auror training, Hermione had still lived with her parents. She had moved on her own during the summer. Padma couldn’t help but feel like she was taking a big step towards something new.

A row of Hermione’s coats and cloaks hung to the left of the door, a neat spectrum of warm nature tones against the wall. She left her trainers among the line of shoes and slipped into some home slippers, and Padma took off her shoes as well.

They entered the living room through the doorless frame to the right. Padma looked around, more conscious than Hermione seemed to be about sharing her private space. Her heart made a leap when she saw the bookshelf covering the opposite wall, and everything else made her want to swoon as well.

Hermione’s home was a wonderful mesh of patterns and colours that fit together without being too loud.

All around were scattered details of her life that seemed casual and intimate at once. Padma’s eyes landed on a paper on 19th century Arithmancy next to a Muggle highlighter pen. Beside it lay a thick book about house-elf rights. They were on a small side-table next to what was clearly the reading nook.

An automated Watering Charm sprinkled a dribble of water into the plant by the windowside, under which sat a plump and inviting armchair. A woolly throw in the tradition of Hermione’s cosy, autumnal knits hung off the armchair at the front window, and her Auror robes were crumpled at the foot of the chair. Clues of a busy life.

It was charmingly bohemian without losing its practicality. Hermione’s flat felt like _home_.

‘Sorry, Crookshanks’ hair is everywhere,’ Hermione said.

Padma thought of her tiny room with nothing she liked except her stacks of books next to the wall. She wanted to stay here forever.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Padma said. ‘It’s amazing.’

Hermione seemed to blush a little.

Padma couldn’t resist the bookshelf any longer. She let the invisible magnet between it and her pull her close so that she could trail her hand along the spines and properly admire Hermione’s classification system. Neat little signs – _Law, Gardening, Potions_ – introduced her collection. Among it was a lot of fiction, which Padma was surprised Hermione had time for, considering the breadth of her interests.

‘Oh, you have the _Helpful Howlers_ series! I love these books,’ Padma exclaimed, seeing a set of familiar titles. ‘I’ve read them so many times I’ve lost count. I almost failed my Ancient Runes O.W.L. because I started to re-read them when I was meaning to study…’

‘Failed, as in almost got an E instead of an O?’ Hermione said with an amused look.

‘Hey, I’m not as crazy as you. I had some E’s,’ she said. ‘Well _one_ E. From Herbology.’

‘I only discovered them recently, but I would have probably loved them too, when I was younger,’ Hermione said, giving the books a wistful look. ‘For me, literature was my gateway to Muggle culture when I was at Hogwarts. I’ve only started catching up on wizarding literature recently.’

‘How did you manage to get a place like this?’ Padma asked.

‘It wasn’t as… spacious originally. I used a little magic here and there. Don’t tell anyone at the Ministry,’ Hermione admitted.

‘An Auror breaking the rules?’ Padma said with a smirk.

‘I’m not exactly known for my tendency to follow the rules.’

‘I know. You’re known for your tendency to question the rules,’ Padma said. ‘Which I respect, although it also drives me mad as a boring, rule-abiding Ravenclaw.’

‘I just loathe to think of the world as a place that’s ready.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ Padma said. She went quiet. She knew that her ability to care about the world around her was much lower than Hermione’s, who seemed to have the empathy and the drive to fix everything that was wrong in the world.

Padma’s eyes went again to the crumpled pile of crimson robes by the armchair. She couldn’t help but notice how compared to everything else in the room, they were deliberately mishandled.

‘Sometimes I think you did the right thing,’ Hermione said, twirling a curl of hair in her finger. She had followed her gaze to the robes.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Leaving the Aurors. I mean, you’re brilliant,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine you giving parking tickets to broom speeders or making sure scoundrels like Mundungus Fletcher don’t end up in the gutter on their way home from the Leaky Cauldron.’ Hermione’s voice was bitter. ‘I can’t help but wonder if I made the wrong choice.’

‘What? No, they must realise how amazing you are at the Aurors!’

‘I may have played a crucial role in helping bring Voldemort down, but I’m also sort of notorious for breaking rules.’ Hermione gave a bark of a laugh. ‘I mean, the whole wizarding world knows that I broke into Gringotts with Harry and Ron, and that wasn’t even half of it.’

‘You helped win the fucking war,’ Padma said.

‘Robards doesn’t care. He’s kept nothing but a close eye on me ever since I joined. They’re worried I’ll turn into a loose cannon, when really, they should be more worried about Harry, who’s ready to rip out his hair getting assigned guarding the Minister’s office with Nibley for the fourth week in a row.’

‘Is that why you’ve been investigating extra cases on the side?’ Padma said. ‘Like Macmillan?’

She kept her voice carefully neutral, but watched Hermione for her reaction.

Hermione blushed. ‘I should have known you’d figure it out.’

‘I’ve been doing what I’m assigned, but it’s so bloody _dull_ that I’ve been digging through the archive for stale cases whenever I have a free moment. I mean, there’s no harm in making myself useful and doing what I’m actually paid for, which is solving cases…’

She trailed off with a little shrug of her shoulder.

‘Do you want some tea?’ she said.

Padma followed her into the small kitchen that opened at the back of the living room. She leaned against the wall at the threshold and watched Hermione work.

‘Ugh, another gift from Crookshanks,’ Hermione said. There was a dead mouse at her feet which she vanished with an accustomed flick of her wand.

Hermione flicked on the Muggle kettle and started to fiddle with tea bags. Something about the kettle’s glossy, mechanical appearance appealed to Padma’s sense of aesthetic.

Hermione hadn’t bothered with Enlargement Charms in the kitchen, but it followed in the same cosy tradition of the rest of the house. An enormous collection of tea occupied most of the scarce available counter space. Jars of herbs and spices were efficiently arranged in a rack on the wall, and taped to the fridge was a shopping list organised in weekly and monthly categories. Hermione dug out some of her massive tea mugs from the cupboard.

Padma felt something brush against her leg and looked down to see a large cat with unruly orange hair. 

A second later an orange blob zoomed past her face as Crookshanks jumped onto her shoulder, his nails digging into her shoulder. She yelped in surprise, but Crookshanks wiggled himself a little to gain balance and loosened his grip.

‘Crooks! Leave Padma alone,’ Hermione said, laughing.

‘It’s alright. I like cats,’ Padma said. She strained her neck to pet Crookshanks from her position.

At Hogwarts, she had liked to read in her four-poster bed with Mandy Brocklehurst’s cat curled up at her feet. She had a natural affinity to creatures that enjoyed their peace and quiet and didn’t do a damn to please anyone.

Padma felt the sudden, shocking warmth of Hermione’s closeness. Hermione gave Crookshanks a loving neck scratch, lightly brushing Padma’s arm as she did so. Crookshanks took the opportunity to walk along the human bridge they made onto Hermione’s shoulder, where he rubbed his head against Hermione’s head of curls.

Padma held her breath and watched the way the skin around Hermione’s eyes crinkled at the winning gesture. _How are we at this point again, so soon?_

‘Shall we get to it?’ Hermione said, meeting her gaze with a smile.

Armed with their steaming mugs of tea and plenty of parchment and pens, they took over the square dining table under the window. It was just like the old times, when they sat in the library or in the tiny study hall in the Auror Department, pouring over their notes together. She was a little guilty about stealing away with Hermione and not inviting Parvati along to plan the next steps of their investigation, but she wasn’t sure if Parvati even wanted any part of it after their fight the day before.

‘When you owled me about Travers, I looked into it,’ Hermione said. Her eyes had that gleam they often did when she was excited. ‘I have an idea, I already Floo-called Luna about it and she agreed…’

***

Two hours later, they were tired but satisfied with their plan for the next day.

‘Padma,’ Hermione said.

Padma looked up. Hermione seemed like she was struggling to find words, but what came out also sounded like she had wanted to say it for a long time.

‘I’ve been thinking about whether to say these thoughts out loud. And I figure I should, because otherwise I’ll always be wondering and it’ll get in the way of truly being friends with you again,’ she said. Her eyes met Padma’s across the table. Padma was captured by their honest, sad glow. ‘Why did you leave Auror training?’

Why did you leave _me_? That was the real question that lingered in the space between them, and Padma knew it. She hugged her empty mug in her hands for comfort, knowing from the way Hermione was so honest and frank with her that she had no option but to be the same. She spent a moment staring into the small backyard where the bins were before she felt ready to face Hermione again.

‘I— I realised that it wasn’t what I wanted to do. That I'm not cut out for it. I'm all brains and no brawn. I don't have the improvisation skills for it,’ she started. Her quiet, steady voice started quivering mid-sentence.

‘They train you for that,’ Hermione pointed out.

‘Well, after two and a half years of training, I wasn't feeling it. I panicked.’ It was the most honest she had been about the subject with anyone.

‘You could have told me,’ Hermione said. ‘Why didn’t you owl me?’

A knot of unbearable feelings tried to rise from the pit of Padma’s stomach in a sickening wave. She swallowed them down.

‘I don't know. I'm sorry. I guess I was ashamed,’ Padma said. It was a bullshit answer and Hermione deserved better, but right now all she could do was focus her emotions on the small trail of dust just beneath the window glass. It must have escaped Hermione’s notice while she was cleaning.

‘It made me feel pretty insecure for a while. You know I had trouble making friends when I started at Hogwarts, and I was never very popular at my Muggle school before that,’ said Hermione in a quiet, steady voice. ‘I know, logically, that there's nothing wrong with me, but it’s all left me feeling like there sometimes is. So you leaving without a word… kind of hurt.’

It was clear that Hermione had spent a long time analysing her thoughts. She expressed her feelings in a premeditated, mature way, which made Padma feel ashamed of how quickly she had begun the work to undo all thoughts of Hermione after she quit Auror training.

With painful, abrupt certainty, Padma knew she wanted to fix things. She wanted to stop being like this,  
stop running the second when things got difficult.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, hoping Hermione could hear how earnest she was. ‘I’m really sorry I made you feel that way. It really had nothing to do with you. I’m just really terrible at handling everything. I hate goodbyes. I didn’t know if you wanted to—’

‘It’s okay,’ Hermione stopped her. ‘I was upset with you at the time, but I’m not anymore. Thanks for explaining.’

Hermione accompanied her to the door. The space between them raw and new, but also clean and fresh, like streets after a good rain. Both of them lingered at the door even after Padma had finished putting her shoes and cloak on.

‘Hug?’ Padma said uncertainly.

She felt a rush of relief as Hermione met her embrace.

‘Did you know, they were planning to make us partners for the last two months of training – for the final practical?’ Hermione said when they broke apart. ‘I snuck a look at Martinez’s list.’

‘I would have liked that,’ Padma said. ‘Now you’re just trying to make me feel worse.’

‘Maybe,’ Hermione said. A small smile played on her lips.

Before she turned to leave, Padma took a deep breath. She didn’t want to leave Hermione with any reason to feel herself unwanted. ‘I’m glad you’re letting me back into your life even after I behaved like a complete twat,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too, Padma.’


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Padma found herself in Hermione’s flat again on Saturday morning. The badge pinned to the top of her smart work robes felt heavy on her chest. It read ‘PRESS’ in glaring letters, and in the corner was the faded red logo of _The Quibbler_.

‘Ready?’ Hermione said.

‘Notebook, check. Camera, check. Quick-Quotes Quill for sub-par journalism, check,’ Padma said, pretending she wasn’t sweating from nerves.

Crookshanks gave her leg an encouraging brush as she entered the Floo after Hermione.

‘What’s that?’ Padma said, watching Hermione fiddle with some small, mechanical object, which she pinned on the inside of her robes.

‘A recording device.’

Padma gave her a long stare. ‘How did you get hands on something like that?’

‘I bought it,’ said Hermione with a simple shrug. ‘ _This_ is what I was talking about in Auror training. We should learn to make the most of both the Muggle and magical worlds.’

Hermione stood close to her in the Floor. When her shoulder brushed Padma’s, she didn’t move away.

In a second, they were engulfed by emerald-green flames and pulled into the jolt of magical transportation. The brick wall of Hermione’s fireplace dissolved before their face to reveal a ballroom and a bustling crowd.

Two wizards in blue cloaks were doing last minute Levitating of chairs to the row of chairs that stood expectant near the front. Some members of the press were already seated. Others were getting their fill of photos of the room that, while beautiful, was still rather bare. Padma admired the fresh shine of the marble floor and let her gaze rise up to the ornamental ceiling, covered in white decorations with gold details. It seemed Travers had managed to grab himself a rather luxurious abode.

Her nervousness doubled at the sight of the professional equipment some of the news representatives had, and the experienced way their quills swished while taking notes. There was even someone who looked like they represented a Dutch paper from what Padma could make of the name. Padma dearly hoped the entire dog and pony show would lead to a breakthrough in the case.

Hermione gripped her arm. ‘Shit. I did not think this through,’ she said in a low, panicked voice. ‘Oh god. Do you have a mirror?’

She dragged Padma off to the side along the wall, her neck sticking in a conspicuous angle as she deliberately faced away from the crowd.

‘What is it?’ Padma said.

‘Bloody Rita Skeeter. Of course she would be here. How could I forget it,’ she cursed, digging through her purse for her wand. ‘This was not the level of disguise I thought I’d need for this event…’

Padma hoped the general bustle and excitement was enough to distract all the news-hungry representatives from different papers of Hermione’s quick disguise operation near the corner of the room. She stood guard and gave worried glances over her shoulder as Hermione fiddled Glamour Charms.

Hermione turned to her. Her hair was now a chestnut colour and flattened into a dull mop that was already curling back up. She had made some small adjustments to her face. It looked unnatural, like a bad tattoo.

‘Any good?’

‘Horrible,’ Padma said, grinning. ‘But if you want to go unrecognised, it does the job.’

Hermione grinned back at her. It looked strange with her new mouth, which Padma tried not to stare at too long.

They made their way to the audience, shuffling past some witches and wizards, and took seats in a row near the back. There was a quiet buzz of excitement, broken by the occasional cough and rustle of parchment. Everyone seemed to be looking at the door to the front-right.

A man came out from the door. Padma recognised him immediately from the newsprint, but even if she hadn’t, the obnoxious, gold-silk robes were a dead giveaway. His tread was slow, but radiated a power, as if every step was a deliberate show of his dominance over the room. He leaned slightly on a walking cane – Padma squinted her eyes to see a gold lion at the handle.

Two tall wizards in black cloaks followed behind him.

Clumsily, Padma pulled out her small camera from her bag, and joined the flash of cameras around her.

‘I see we’ve gathered quite a little crowd today,’ Travers said, once the immediate excitement had settled in the room. His voice was softer than Padma had imagined, but slippery like ice.

He smiled a sneer-like smile and let his eyes run over his audience. Padma felt a nasty prickle on her skin when he ran his eyes lingered on her.

‘Welcome. I decided to put on this little event when it became clear that the press would not give up its obsession with me,’ he said. ‘There’s been a wide interest in my investment plans. Everything that is within my rights to disclose, I will talk about. Ask away, bloodhounds.’

Despite his cold retorts, he seemed to be enjoying himself. His lips twisted into a pleased smile when several hands rose up in the air.

‘Are you planning to buy out Billywig Brewery?’ someone said.

‘Will you continue to use Dutch ingredients for your Ghost Gin?’

‘Stella Solaris for _Witch Weekly_ , Sir. What is your go-to cocktail for late autumn?’

Padma tried to stay focused. She noted down anything that could bear even the slightest relevance to her case, and amused herself occasionally by reading the scribbles made by her Quick-Quotes Quill.

‘For _The Familiar_ , Sir,’ said a wizard a few rows in front of them. ‘You were involved in some suspicious activity before you left England.’

Padma looked up again.

‘I assure you, I pay my taxes like everyone else,’ Travers said. ‘Moving had nothing to do with that.’

He started eyeing the crowd for another question.

‘I’m not talking about taxes,’ the man continued. The crowd seemed to quieten and his voice filled the room. ‘Much of the investigation on Death Eater activity during both wars was focused on France, where the majority of it took place. But later, the MLE has tracked You-Know-Who’s network to other parts of Europe, including the Netherlands. It’s not a coincidence that magical creatures, particularly giants, were able to pass through the Netherlands to board ships to Britain without ever being spotted. Did you play a role in these operations?’

Travers didn’t even flinch.

‘Determined to get your scandal, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to disappoint you and the rag of a paper you represent. I had nothing to do with war activity in Europe. The most scandalous thing I was involved in during the wars was keeping you and the rest of Britain supplied with spirits. Some may call that cowardly, but others might call me a hero.’

He looked around, demanding a few nervous laughs from the crowd. Padma may have been imagining it, but it seemed as if a strained tick had appeared on his face.

‘This is ridiculous!’ Hermione whispered to Padma. ‘He’s such an oily rat. We’re never going to get anything out of him like this.’

Her arm shot into the air – years of experience as a practiced swot, Padma couldn’t help thinking with some amusement.

‘Lady with the red hair,’ Travers said.

The man in front of Padma turned to give them a nasty glare, clearly annoyed that a publication like _The Quibbler_ had gotten its turn before him.

‘For _The Quibbler_ , sir,’ Hermione’s voice rang loud and clear next to her. ‘How do you comment on the claim that forty years ago, you murdered your wife?’

A shocked shudder went through the crowd. She felt thirty pairs of eyes on herself and Hermione and heard a round of gasps. Padma realised that one of them had come from her own mouth.

‘Who claims such a thing?’

Travers’ voice had lost its softness. It pierced the crowd with its cold creak, like chalk on a blackboard. His eyes, steel-grey and calculating, were narrowed at Hermione.

‘Our witness insisted on anonymity,’ Hermione said in the same, bold voice. Padma could tell she was nervous from the way she shook against Padma’s thigh. ‘But we have it from a reliable source that you sent an innocent man to prison.’

‘Hmph,’ he said, lips turning into a scornful smile again. ‘You can shove that claim up your arse.’

He gave Hermione and Padma one final look before he pulled his eyes away. ‘Does anyone have a _real_ question?’

‘What was that about?’ Padma whispered as soon as the attention was no longer on them.

‘I was just throwing it out there! It’s not impossible, is it?’ said Hermione. ‘The question made him nervous. We have to get him alone somehow. Once it’s over, I’ll cause a diversion and you go after him, alright?’

 _Anyone would be nervous, asked something like that_ , Padma thought.

But she didn’t have time to respond, because Travers was addressing the crowd again.

‘I think it’s time to call this little session to end,’ he said. ‘I bared my heart and like the blood-sucking Acromantulas you are, you blatantly disrespected that. Not that I expected any better. Goodbye.’

Hermione crouched down. To anyone paying attention, she could have been tying her shoelace.

It took less than a minute for someone in the crowd to yelp and point at the smoke rising from one corner of the room. It was followed by a much louder shriek – Rita Skeeter had discovered her robes to be on fire.

Chaos broke out.

Pillars of smoke rose from several parts of the room simultaneously. People were screaming and shoving past each other to make it to safety. Aguamentis and Finite Incatatems could be heard above the din. One of Travers’ security wizards ran to help put out the fires in the other end of the room.

Padma Disillusioned herself, hoping that everyone was too focused on the smoke to notice the charm slowly trickle down her body.

She saw the second of the security wizards help Travers through the door, and then hesitate at the door. Padma saw him cast a quick look of alarm behind him, where Travers had just exited, and then back to the crowd, where several people were trying to squeeze into the Floo and someone was shouting spells at the tall glass windows.

He rushed to help the crowd.

Padma squeezed past a wizard who was frantically shoving camera equipment into a bag, and ran through the door Travers had disappeared through.

She couldn’t believe she had made it out without anyone following her.

She had come to a long hallway. She could hear the drowning sounds of the ballroom and hurried along. Heart thumping against her ribcage like a bludger, Padma proceeded. 

Landscape paintings that looked old and expensive covered one wall. Placed in regular intervals beneath them were short pillars hosting a collection of Roman busts and oriental vases – all of it reeking of old money. The marble heads gave her creepy looks as she passed.

When she turned around at the end of the hallway, she spotted Travers’ gold robe billowing a short stretch ahead of her.

She undid her Disillusionment Charm. She felt it trickle back up her body and finish at the crown of her head just as Travers turned around.

‘I’m not here to cause trouble,’ she said quickly, holding out her wand-free hands.

‘Oh, like that nice, little havoc you so heedlessly caused back there? Don’t think I’m stupid. I know when someone wants something from me,’ Travers said. Padma had to give him credit for not appearing at all frightened. He eyed her up and down. ‘Remember, security is only a call away, Miss…’

‘Roy,’ said Padma quickly. She felt her cheeks heat up. Her bloody idiot of a brain had offered the first name that came to mind. It was the last name of her uncle and auntie, who her father had lived with during his internship before he married their mother.

Travers snort at the odd coincidence of it being his first name.

‘Miss _Roy_ ,’ he repeated. ‘And pray tell me, _how can I help you_? I trust it’s not for my good looks and money that you’ve decided to ambush me like this.’

‘I came to apologise for my partner,’ Padma said. She could feel herself shaking under his evaluating gaze. She found it too uncomfortable to look directly at him, so she focused on one of the busts beside him, finding refuge in its vacant, dead eyes. ‘Not everyone at _The Quibbler_ is as scandal-seeking and abhorrently behaved. Some of us are just out here for the truth.’

‘The truth,’ Travers said and smiled shortly. ‘The truth about what?’

She decided not to answer him. ‘We’re not the only ones interested in your late wife’s murder. Someone involved with her life at the time has received a letter threatening to expose the truth.’

A strange look crossed Travers’ features. ‘Who has received such a letter?’ he said. ‘Did he ask you to publish it?’

 _He_.

‘I don’t know who sh—he is,’ Padma said quickly. She thought feverishly of how to keep the conversation going. ‘We received it anonymously at _The Quibbler_.’

‘Hmph,’ Travers let out a dissatisfied snort. ‘You journalists are the bane of the world. Ruthless. You don’t care at all for the feelings of an old man.’

‘We’re not going to publish it yet. I want to have the full story first,’ she lied. ‘That’s why I came to you. I wanted to know if you’ve received anything similar.’

‘I don’t like your nosy attitude,’ Travers said. He leaned closer, so that his face was mere inches from hers. ‘You don’t get it, do you? There is no story. My wife died. I was heartbroken. The best story is the one they will publish when I sue your editorial staff.’

‘So, you haven’t received such a letter?’

Travers captured her in a long, cold stare that seemed to pierce right through her lies.

Padma swallowed.

‘Well, if you do receive anything suspicious, you should let the Aurors know,’ she said with artificial lightness. ‘And _The Quibbler_ , of course.’

‘Oh, I’ll be sure to check your work at _The Quibbler_ , Miss Roy,’ he said. He made a movement with his arm.

For a split second, Padma had thought he was going to dig out his wand and do something to her. But instead, he extended his arm out for her to shake.

Padma wondered how much of the gesture was motivated by her youth and appearance. She took his hand and shook it limply.

‘Now get out of my house, or I will have you escorted out.’

***

‘Well, that was awful,’ Padma said. ‘He was so suspicious. We should have brought Parvati along… She’s much better at the bullshit art of making people like you.’

She had found Hermione waiting for her out on the grounds. Hermione had dropped her Glamours, and was leaning against an old fence. If she’d been wearing one of her usual knits, she would have looked exactly like a countryside postcard.

Padma was glad that despite having to improvise, she had been able to keep Marjory’s name out of her questioning. The wind kept blowing Padma’s hair in her face, but she didn’t mind. The fresh autumn air felt good.

She remembered how Travers had immediately referred to the recipient of the letter as _he_ , and briefed Hermione on what had happened.

‘Either he was very quick to bluff, or he was just talking about Selwyn,’ she said. ‘Travers is definitely shady, but there’s nothing that points strongly to him being involved.’

‘You’re wrong. He’s absolutely guilty in some way,’ said Hermione, looking at her grimly. ‘I had a chat with one of his guards who had something interesting to say about my accusal of murder.’

Padma’s eyes widened as realization dawned on her. She gave Hermione a look of admiration. ‘That was your plan?’

‘If there was anyone who knew something about what happened, I knew we had to bait them out,’ she said, and flashed her a quick smirk. ‘Listen to this.’ She had dug out a little machine from her rucksack, into which she now put the small object pinned to her robes. She pressed the button.

‘I don’t know about no murders, Miss, but you’re doing yourself no good digging around,’ a rough voice rang from the device in her hand. ‘Travers isn’t someone you want to get on the wrong side of. Catch him mutterin’ some nasty stuff all the time. I wouldn’t be working for him if it weren’t that he pays so soddin’ well.’

‘What have you caught him saying?’ Hermione’s voice said.

‘That there’s something in his way, loose ties he has to take care of. I dunno what it’s about, but I can tell it ain’t anything pleasant. it’s best you stay out of it.’

Hermione pressed the button again and the playback ended with a click.

‘He could be talking about Marjory,’ Padma gasped.

‘Or Gerald. Or anyone, really. Even though he managed to keep his hands clean in the war, he must have made some enemies,’ Hermione said. ‘But I wouldn’t rule him out as our threatener.’

Padma gave a serious nod.

And then, not bothering to hide the fondness in her voice, she gave Hermione a small nudge. ‘If you’re planning to do something risky like that again, maybe warn me next time?’

‘It wasn't really that much of a risk,’ Hermione said with a slight smile. ‘I could have always shown them my Auror badge if the worst happened.’

‘I’m sure Robards would have loved that,’ Padma said. ‘An unauthorised infiltration by one of his Junior Aurors.’

‘What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him,’ snorted Hermione. But she didn’t seem quite as big as her words.

‘I have to get back to the office,’ Padma said. ‘Let’s go through the Leaky and grab some chips, yeah?’

Her hand curled around Hermione’s to Apparate.

Even as they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, it felt natural to just keep holding. It wasn’t until they were carrying their boxes of hot food to Padma’s office that Padma let go.

***

‘Come here, Padma. Look at this,’ Parvati said, when they entered the office.

Surprisingly, Parvati was talking to her again. Padma tried to search her face for hidden resentment, but just found a chilling efficiency that reminded her of their mother.

‘What are you working on, Parvati?’ Hermione said. She laid her box of chips on Parvati’s desk and leaned closer to look.

‘Something Marjory said the first time we met struck me as odd, so I did a little digging, and found both Marjory and her sister Katherine’s birth certificates,’ Parvati said.

‘How did you manage that? I thought they kept documents like that secret,’ Padma said. She shook her head. ‘Nevermind. Go on.’

‘Oh, it was pretty easy,’ Parvati answered. ‘The Ministry was meticulous about keeping their birth registries right in those days. Unsurprising, considering how prejudiced the wizarding world is against Muggles and Muggleborns. So, it was just about talking to the right person in the right way, and it happened to be that absolute tosser Smith.’

‘Oh lord,’ Hermione said.

Parvati gave her a look that said ‘I know’. She turned again to her papers. ‘Anyway, I did their birth charts, and you’ll never believe it.’

‘Birth charts. Are you serious?’ Padma said. She tried to exchange a look with Hermione, but Hermione stared at her chips, determined to avoid looking at either of them.

Padma stood up straight from where she had been crouched over Parvati’s desk and said, ‘I’m not even going to waste my time arguing with you about this.’

She did what she had been meaning to do as soon as they got back to the office and strode off to the kitchenette to fetch Hermione and herself forks. There were at least _two_ somewhere in the dusty drawers.

‘Padma,’ Parvati called after her. ‘You may think astrology is hogwash, but our client doesn’t. You have to listen. Their charts don’t make sense, not based on what we know. Did you know they had different sun signs? It’s not impossible, but very rare. More rare than different rising signs like ours.’

Padma didn’t say anything. She came back and spread out her meal on the measly coffee table. She took a bite out of a soggy chip, annoyed at the lack of vinegar. Parvati went on.

‘Marjory is a Leo and Katherine is a Cancer. Doesn’t that feel strange to you? Marjory is supposed to be no-nonsense and outgoing, but to me she seems very sensitive and even moody.’

 _I wonder what could do that to a person… A loved-one’s death, perhaps?_ Padma thought, feeling irritated.

‘It got me thinking, what if Marjory is not who she claims she is?’ Parvati said.

Hermione had eaten at lightning speed. She stuffed the final chip into her mouth and stood up. 

‘Padma, I think I’m going to go,’ Hermione said. ‘Luna will be expecting that article.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want help with it?’ Padma asked.

‘I’m okay.’ She made an ambiguous gesture between Padma and Parvati. ‘See you later?’

‘See you,’ Padma said. Deciding she didn’t want to bicker with Parvati anymore, she got up and went to her desk. ‘What did you mean by _not who she claims she is?_ ’

‘Nothing, Just that I don’t trust her. I think she’s keeping something from us. As horrible as it is to say that about a client,’ Parvati said.

‘I don’t trust her either. I think she knows something about what happened to Katherine.’ An uneasy feeling had taken over Padma. ‘We should go give Marjory a visit first thing Monday,’ she said. And taking a deep sigh, as peace-offering, she said, ‘You can pin those with the rest of the board.’

Parvati let out a strange little hum in response.

‘I have to go over everything we did with Hermione today. Do you want coffee?’ Padma said.

Parvati shook her head, so Padma just brewed enough for herself. And to show she was serious about making up to her, she did the washing up too.

She took her cup of coffee and a couple of biscuits with her into her office.

Padma started updating her case log with the findings of the day, and took occasional sips of her scalding-hot coffee – just the way she liked it.

As an impulse, Padma tried to compare Travers’ magical energies to the envelope she had found in Marjory’s. It was a long shot, but the remnants of his energies still lingered where they had shaken hands. 

It took her a while to remember the correct spells. he spell wobbled in sad dissonance and Padma dropped the envelope back into her desk drawer. Either the trace was too weak or Travers simply had nothing to do with it. 

No matter how hard she tried to focus her scattered thoughts on the case, she was constantly interrupted by the memory of every lingering touch she had shared with Hermione that day. Her heart swelled in happiness just from recalling how warm Hermione’s hand felt in hers. And that happiness terrified her.

The sum of Padma’s dating life was short and unremarkable. A few kisses at Hogwarts. Frustrating years of drooling after her classmate Mandy Brocklehurst, who wanted nothing to do with her, and who Padma could in hindsight see, was incredibly straight.

Her first real experience had been a one-time fumble with a boy from the Department International Magical Cooperation, who had been very infatuated with her for some unfathomable reason. Padma had nipped that one in the bud when she had realised the level of his feelings. He had given her hurt looks for weeks afterwards whenever they happened to come across each other in the Ministry hallways.

Padma had still had the integrity to not let that one linger, something she hadn’t had with the next one. She didn’t even like to think of his name. Nearly ten years older than her, he had worked in the Department of Mysteries. Padma had let herself be drawn in by the appeal of his work and the purposeful, decisive attitude he applied to everything in his life, including his relationship with her.

She had allowed it to go on for a couple of weeks, growing more and more uneasy with every rendezvous. After a while she had finally broken it off. She had stopped answering his owls and refused to visit him again. Now, the whole thing filled her with a vague sense of shame. Padma had been more scarred by the complete lack of trust it instilled in her towards her own ability to make decisions than by anything about the relationship itself.

In hindsight, both relationships had been easy. No action had been required of her until she had been ready to move on. She hadn’t even had to have certainty in if she wanted it or not. At least not until her discomfort had become greater than her nervous desires, forcing her to reclaim herself.

Now, the feelings inside her urged her to claim something else: to make _wanting Hermione_ a part of her.

Suddenly the door creaked. As if Summoned by her thoughts, Hermione stood in front of her desk.

Parvati must have let her in on the way out. She looked flushed, like she had run up the stairs. A few strands of hair curled onto her face and she brushed them off.

‘You’re back. What’s up? Did you forget something?’ Padma said.

‘Sort of,’ Hermione said. She didn’t look directly at Padma. From her stance, Padma would have almost thought she was nervous.

Padma began to worry when Hermione just stood there and didn’t say anything for several seconds.

‘I don’t know if I’m imagining things…’ Hermione finally said. ‘But I sense a mutual attraction between us.’

Padma stared back at her, taken by shock. It was happening fast – too fast.

Everything she felt towards Hermione, the whole aching, vibrating, _lovely_ mess of all of it was nested somewhere inside her. She felt it locked in the nicks of her spine, stuck in the back of her throat, inaccessible. But she knew better than to lose Hermione again.

She stood up from her chair.

You’re not imagining it,’ Padma said. She swallowed. ‘I like you.’

What was she, a six-year-old? Padma watched Hermione’s face in trepidation, her nerves fluttering inside her stomach like Snitches.

Hermione let out a small noise, something between a huff and a laugh.

‘I like you too,’ she replied breathlessly. Then, she buried her face in her scarf right after so that Padma couldn’t see her.

‘You have an odd way of showing it,’ Padma said.

‘I can’t help it,’ Hermione peeped out from the scarf. She untucked part of her face again and gave Padma a pouting look. ‘I know we’ve just spent the day in a potential murderer’s home, but this is by far the scariest thing I’ve done all day.’

‘I’m scared too,’ Padma said with a light laugh.

‘Don’t say it’s because I’m intimidating. I’ve heard that one too many times.’

‘Anything but,’ said Padma. ‘I think you’re pretty amazing.’

‘Really?’

Hermione had already done half the job. It was hers to finish. Padma came to stand in front of her, meeting the warm brown of Hermione’s eyes that seemed to radiate a small light of their own.

‘Really,’ she said.

Nearly shaking from excitement, she leaned forward and brought their lips together.

***

Padma woke up late. She had stayed up long after she had come home the night before, trying to make sense of what had happened. The last wisps of her dream lingered at the corners of her consciousness: hot kisses, flashes of skin, and an aching need inside of her.

Now, under the sliver of light pooling in through the crack in the curtains, Padma had to repeat the evening over and over again in her mind to convince herself it had really happened.

They had kissed. Not only had they kissed, they had kissed for a _long time_.

Padma got up from bed, feeling light, bouncy, and a little anxious. It felt like something was about to explode inside her; it was thrilling and wonderful, but so new that her body felt strange and jittery adjusting to the feeling.

She took care choosing her favorite striped shirt and dark-blue trousers – they had agreed with Hermione to meet again tonight.

It was the weekend, but Padma spent the day doing some light work at the office.

She peeked a glance at Parvati’s charts and notes – more out of disdain than a real curiosity – but they made no sense to her. The obscure symbols and lines that trailed across the chart looked mystical and occult.

***

When Padma left the office, it was starting to get dark. The first stars had emerged, faintly visible beyond the glow of the lamp-posts.

Something felt off. There was nothing to suggest anything was wrong: The masseuse from downstairs was smoking outside, staring in front of her in a bored way. A couple of witches in black robes walked by, without paying any attention to her. 

Despite this, it almost felt like someone was following her. She looked over her shoulder and rushed on.

Padma was relieved to see the Sunday regulars shuffling into the Ghoul, a pub at the corner of Knockturn Alley. There was always more bustle on Diagon Alley.

Her nervousness got the best of her. Instead of going to the Leaky to use the Floo, Padma took a quick turn to an unnoticeable side-alley. Heart beating, she Apparated.

She walked along the street Hermione’s house was on and let her nerves calm down.

Padma rang the doorbell.

She had been building up the courage to kiss Hermione all day. She had imagined going in and sweeping her off her feet into a mindblowing kiss, but when Hermione opened the door, Padma could barely lift her feet to cross the distance between them.

She shuffled in awkwardly, and after lingering near the threshold for an expectant second, Hermione backed in to make room for her.

‘How was work?’ she asked Hermione, deciding her body was definitely not cooperating with her today, spewing out such a mundane, pointless question.

‘Oh, you know, the same old. Except today, Ron got called to go with Auror Jenkins to contain some nutter trying to rob the Leaky Cauldron, and then he wouldn’t shut up about it when they returned after they had caught the poor bastard,’ she said. ‘I’m happy for him, of course, but is it wrong that I also want to strangle my ex?’

There was no love lost between Padma and Ron since their joke of a date in Fourth Year, but Padma knew better than to join Hermione’s joking reproach even if she wasn’t being serious.

‘Luckily Harry’s stuck in report duty with me. Robards has him doing his personal reports now, as if it’s some great privilege. Harry’s honestly plotting murder at this point.’

Padma followed Hermione into the living room. It looked different in the late evening darkness, the soothing glow of Hermione’s reading lamp casting a circle of orange-yellow light around the wool rug.

Hermione wandered into the kitchen absentmindedly to put on the funky Muggle kettle. Padma lingered by the dining table, still trying to gather herself. She noticed Hermione’s unfinished article for _The Quibbler_ and busied herself reading it.

_THE TERRIBLE TRUTH ABOUT TRAVERS_

_We at The Quibbler have always known that Travers Distilleries has been a cover for something much more sinister._

_Why did Travers relocate to the Netherlands? Why does he wear such superfluous robes? What makes his whisky ‘so good it’ll kill you’?_

_The secret ingredient to his murderously good spirits is no longer a secret._

_What he claims to be just regular elderberry juice is in fact blood – illegally sourced from River Salamanders, a variant of the common Salamander, classified as endangered by the Quibbler’s List of Endangered Creatures._

_The question about his robes is a tougher one to answer, but our expert opinion suggests a strong need to compensate for something._

_But compensating for what? We will leave that as an exercise to the reader._

‘You could replace that with babies’ blood, or something,’ Padma said, when Hermione appeared by her side again.

‘Ooh, dark,’ Hermione said. ‘I like it.’

‘You know, about Marjory, I have a theory—’ Padma started.

Hermione interrupted her with a kiss.

 _Oh_.

Padma’s surprise turned into a pleasant burst of warmth in her stomach. She melted into the kiss, drawing in the taste of Hermione’s lips. It was still new and unfamiliar, but everything in Padma responded to it with a deep, inescapable longing.

Hermione stopped kissing her for a moment to scoot up onto the dining table. When Padma found her lips again, she was pulled between her thighs. She tugged deliciously at Padma’s bottom lip, and Padma felt her whole body prickle with new energy. Hermione’s kisses were more urgent now – full of exploration and zeal.

> Image Description: A drawing of Hermione and Padma kissing, with Padma between Hermione's legs and Hermione sitting on her dining room table. Hermione wears a blue flannel unbuttoned over a white t-shirt and shorts. Her hair is in a bun and her hand is in Padma's hair. Padma is wearing a long sleeve striped t shirt tucked into blue jeans. One of her hands is on Hermione's lower back and the other is on her thigh. They are backlit by Hermione's apartment window. Art by tonftyhw. End description.

Hermione’s arms broke loose from around her neck. She began to fiddle with the buttons of Padma’s collar.

Padma answered by slipping a hand under Hermione’s shirt. She trailed her fingers along the round skin of Hermione’s stomach and was satisfied to see Hermione’s fingers pause their movement for a moment to shiver under her touch.

Padma felt her way to the back of her bra, pleased at the reactions Hermione was giving her and happy to be in control. She fiddled with the clasp. It took her a moment to undo it, providing a moment of comedic relief during which they looked at each other, flushed. Hermione finished the job for her by tugging off her shirt and dropping it to the floor along with the undesired bra.

‘I want…’ Hermione, who was usually so eloquent, seemed to be struggling with her words. ‘Take off this bloody thing,’ she huffed, cuffing a strap of Padma’s sports bra with her fingers.

Padma let out a soft laugh and did as told.

How the next moments happened, Padma couldn’t have recalled afterwards. Somehow, they navigated their way to the bedroom: a clumsy transition up the stairs, where they got stuck kissing against every surface along the way.

Padma didn’t have time to take in the room when Hermione’s hand slammed the door open. She vaguely acknowledged a flash of red curtains in the corner of her eye before she was pulled into the tumble of pillows and blankets, soon to be followed by the rest of their clothes.

In the bed, their kissing slowed down. After a final brush of lips, they lay facing each other. Padma felt breathless and hyper-aware. She stared Hermione in the eye, close enough to see the specs of amber in her brown eyes. Hermione stared back, and brushed a lock of hair off Padma’s face in a slow, tender sweep.

Padma would have lied if she said she wasn’t nervous. She knew the mechanics of it, _of course_ she did – she had spent many long hours of her life immersed in any material about lesbian sex she could find. She also knew that it wasn’t really so much about the mechanics at all. It was about finding mutual pleasure – which could take any shape or style. Improvising had always scared her.

‘I haven’t done this with another woman before,’ Hermione said.

‘Me neither,’ Padma admitted. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said more roughly than she intended, ‘But I’ve wanted to.’

‘Me too,’ Hermione said and they shared a nervous laugh. Hermione pulled her into another kiss.

This part Padma knew, and she surrendered to it with wholehearted enthusiasm. She was still astonished at how well their way of kissing suited each other, how each kiss seemed to pull her in deeper into the tangle of emotion and arousal that being around Hermione seemed to cause in her. Half-consciously, Padma acknowledged being relieved that her body was reacting this way, that her years and years of pining unattainable girls hadn’t been just her imagination.

Shyly, she let her hands travel across Hermione’s skin.

Hermione, as the Gryffindor, made the next bold move. She slid her hand against the angle of Padma’s hip. It lingered there suggestively. Padma turned to her back, making space for Hermione to slide her hand between her legs.

‘God, you’re wet,’ Hermione said in a husky, delighted voice.

Padma let out a frustrated moan. She was too distracted by everything: the kisses trailing down her neck, the way Hermione’s curls tickled her collarbone. 

Padma stopped Hermione’s hand. She pushed her gently onto her back and climbed on top of her. She was tired of letting Hermione be the brave one all the time. She wanted her turn.

She started kissing her way down Hermione’s stomach, self-conscious of how this was a trajectory with a clear endpoint. She lingered on the curves of Hermione’s body, gripped her beautiful thighs, and gave her belly a graze of a kiss to see if Hermione was ticklish.

Snuggled between her legs, in the face of her swollen, wrinkled, beauty, Padma paused. She trailed her thumb slowly across the curls of her hair. Hermione bucked her hips to meet her touch.

Padma brought her mouth down, inhaling the scent that was Hermione. She felt Hermione’s toes curl against her hip and took it as a good sign. She found an angle that sort of worked. It was a little awkward, but she didn’t care – Hermione’s gasps and moans urged her on.

‘More?’ she asked.

‘No, that’s good,’ Hermione panted. ‘Oh, hell…’

Hermione grabbed her hair again.

‘Just focus more on the clit, please,’ Hermione breathed. ‘Yes—’

She seemed to like what Padma was doing. Reading Hermione’s reactions and being careful not to change anything too much, Padma continued, until suddenly, Hermione’s thighs gripped her hard.

Padma allowed the wave of euphoric exhaustion wash over her as she basked in Hermione’s orgasm. When Hermione’s legs thumped to the mattress again, she couldn’t help but feel pride for what she had just made happen.

She crept her way up on top of Hermione, where she was greeted by her lips again.

‘You… That…’ Hermione said. She laughed and her eyes glowed. ‘Thank you. I needed that.’

Padma gently collapsed on top of her. She buried her face in Hermione’s hair and let herself drown in the earthy scent of her shampoo for a minute.

Padma perked up again when she felt a hand snake behind her thigh.

Shivers followed as Hermione drew slow circles with her fingers. The feather-light touches danced around her lower back and thighs, until Padma couldn’t bear it anymore and positioned herself so that Hermione’s hand grazed between her legs.

Hermione gave a teasing chuckle.

‘I want to taste you too,’ Hermione said. ‘If it’s alright with you.’

Hermione’s hands urged her forward.

‘God, I’ve always wanted to do this,’ Hermione said. Her eyes were fixed between Padma’s legs.

Pushing away her unease at being exposed, Padma focused on the delirious expression on Hermione’s face. It was almost _pleading_. The thought sent a ripple of pleasure through her spine. Shaking from excitement, she lowered herself close to Hermione’s face.

When Hermione’s tongue found her, the anticipation and the sweet, sweet frustration erupted into an intense need.

Hermione’s moans were muffled beneath her. Padma tried to make her some more room, but Hermione just squeezed her in tighter, pulling her in closer.

Padma lost all ability to think.

Every nerve of her body was alight, she was glowing, burning, bursting. The walls of her mind shattered around her and for the first time in her life, Padma came loudly with a scream.

Hours later, she tiptoed downstairs and fumbled to find her cloak in the dark. Crookshanks meowed at her in a demanding way, probably begging for an evening snack, but Padma thought it best to leave that to Hermione.

As she stepped out the door, Padma remembered that they never did have the tea Hermione started making.

And it was much, much later, when she was pulling off her cloak at the entrance of her cold, dark flat, that she realised she hadn’t talked to Hermione about the case at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Padma had never been a very physical person: she found it difficult to quieten the spattering, whirling stream of thoughts in her mind long enough to be truly present in her body.

Sex had always fallen short of its supposed merits and left her feeling vaguely dissatisfied. She wanted it, but couldn’t quite grasp it: it was something that shone at the edges of her vision, but when brought up close, was dull and undefined.

Now, it presented endless possibilities. Through hours spent in exploration of each other, her dynamic with Hermione had become continually more fascinating. Padma’s thoughts were often occupied by different ways she could make Hermione squirm.

Her mind was allowed the space and inventiveness she hadn’t even been able to fathom in the limited view of sex that had been accessible to her in the past. Padma, who had always considered herself an uncreative person, was in the midst of a sexual renaissance.

Sometimes a small voice appeared from the back of her mind and said, _maybe you only like her because the sex is so great. Maybe you don't connect with her in any other way._

But Padma ignored it.

‘Hey, have you been listening to me at all?’ Parvati said.

‘Yes,’ Padma said. _No_. She had been thinking about the way Hermione nearly purred when Padma moved her tongue in _just_ the right way.

‘I know Hermione and you are a _thing_ now,’ Parvati said. ‘I don’t mind, I really don’t. But I need you to focus.’

Padma glared at her, but also acknowledged that she had just gotten off easy.

***

Marjory looked tired when she opened the door.

‘Hello, dears,’ she greeted them. Padma realised she had probably worn some subtle Glamours during the previous times she had met with them. She had bags under her eyes and her dress was wrinkled, as if she had just woken up in it.

‘How are you managing, Madam Macmillan?’ Padma said. She felt embarrassed by the lack of news, and tried to compensate by conveying as much concern as she could.

‘Oh, I’m managing,’ Marjory said, giving her a short smile. ‘But I will be honest with you. I would be very relieved if you have any news to share.’

No. No news. Just questions, burning in Padma’s mind like Fiendfyre. She had been prepared to bring up Travers, but Marjory seemed to be in a vulnerable state. Padma needed to rethink the angle she was going to take.

She waited until they were seated in the parlour, where tea and scones were laid out like a ritual. The scones were fresh and soft, and Padma wholeheartedly dug into hers, letting the sweet, tart taste of blackberry jam hit her tongue.

The haunting light in the dead of night still plagued Padma’s mind. She decided it was a better place to start.

‘Have you had any visitors these past few days?’ she asked, swallowing the last of her scone.

‘No-one except your sister.’ Marjory glanced at Parvati, who beamed back warmly.

‘Could anyone have been here while you were away?’

‘I haven’t left the house all week,’ Marjory said.

Padma noticed she was not partaking in the scones or the tea. There was a general air of discomfort in the way she sat, fidgeting on her armchair.

‘Have you been up—’ she started, but Marjory suddenly got up from her chair.

‘There’s something I need to show you,’ Marjory said.

She went to her writing table and spent a moment digging for something. When she came back, she wordlessly handed Padma a smooth piece of parchment.

Padma took it, and felt a shiver pass through her as she recognised the same handwriting, just slightly more rushed this time.

_Leave. Before it’s too late._

Padma looked at her in alarm. ‘When did this come in?’

‘Yesterday,’ Marjory said.

‘Why didn’t you contact us immediately?’

‘My owl would have missed you,’ she said simply, but gave Padma an aside-glance – perhaps Padma’s tone had been too harsh, too demanding. ‘And going all the way to the village to borrow a Floo… I didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. You were going to visit, anyway.’ 

Marjory looked miserable. She pinched the letter between her frail hands and gently, Padma took it away from her again.

The first letter had felt like a threat… But this one was more like a warning.

‘Maybe you should do what it says,’ Parvati said. ‘Is there anywhere you could go… for now?

Padma left Parvati to sort out Marjory’s feelings. Feeling very much like the bad Auror, she got up and went to sit at the writing table, deciding that the most useful thing she could do was analyse the letter right away. She performed her tracing spells on it, listening with half an ear as Parvati tried to suggest different options to Marjory, all of which she dismissed calmly but firmly.

This letter was unlike the first: it had clearly not received the same care in hiding its origin. Feeling the tingling of the tracking charm, Padma’s mind was flooded with an uneasy possibility. It was something she had been suspecting for a while, really: that the first letter Marjory had shown them at the office had been written – or re-written – by herself.

Had the circumstances been different, Padma could have put the first letter down to simply wanting attention. Padma’s own nana had been in the habit of doing that: he had liked to convince everyone he was at death’s door at every mild ailment. Once, he had even checked into the hospital, and when Padma and her family had rushed to his bedside, he had turned out to be healthy as a horse.

But from what Padma knew of the woman, Marjory wanted to drive attention away from herself.

Padma already felt like she had the answer. She would need to confirm it at the office, but she was already sure that this letter would correlate to the envelope she had picked up a week ago.

There must have been something in the first letter that Marjory hadn’t wanted to show them. Why else would have she forged it?

She tucked the letter in her pocket and got up from the desk.

‘I visited Roy Travers,’ she announced. ‘He’s back in England. I don’t know if you were aware.’

Her words landed like a Bludger. A deadly silence followed. Padma watched as Marjory’s face paled. She seemed to become small, disappear in her armchair. Parvati glared at Padma, but Padma continued.

‘He didn’t mention you, but there is the possibility that the letter was from him.’

Parvati got up and tried to put a caring arm on Marjory’s shoulder, but Marjory brushed it off. When Marjory spoke, her voice was hard to describe. It quivered, but it was also strong and almost forceful. She looked Padma dead in the eye.

‘I hired you to find out who sent that letter, not dig up the past,’ she said.

Padma stared back for a long second. _What happened? Did you do something you regret?_

‘Fine. I respect that,’ she finally said, trying to stay professional and not to let her mood come through. ‘Excuse me.’

She retreated into the hallway, her embarrassment and frustration coming upon her in a gigantic, drowning wave. Nothing was going as planned. It was likely that from this point on, her investigation would consist mostly of desperate escapades to the archives, until Marjory decided she needed to hire a less-nosy detective.

Padma glared at the sleeping portraits as she passed them. She thought about waking one up – out of spite, out of a desperate need to do anything useful. Portraits always knew things. Marjory couldn’t have spent forty years entirely quiet in this large, cold house.

But she decided to be an adult this time, and continued her search for the loo.

When she passed the large staircase that cut off the upper part of the house, she had another idea. Every nerve in her body told her it was a bad one, but with a quick glance over her shoulder and a firm grip on her wand, Padma hurried up the stairs.

The railing continued to a small platform that hosted a hardwood double door. Padma noticed that the platform was covered in an equally thick layer of dust as the stairs. Padma leaned her ear against the door warily, knowing she was overreacting – there couldn’t possibly be anyone there this time of the day. A quick, well-directed _Homenum Revelio_ revealed the floor to be empty.

She didn’t expect the door to open with a simple _Alohomora_.

It gave a sinister creak as the doors spread open.

‘Lumos,’ Padma muttered at the subsequent darkness. She wasn’t particularly eager to discover what lurked in the shadows, but it was better than not knowing.

Furniture, placed haphazardly at odd angles, was covered in white sheets that made it look like ghosts from a bad Muggle movie. Padma brushed her finger along the back of a chair, that peeked out from underneath a faded sheet and brought her finger back smeared with dust.

She walked on, not quite knowing what she hoped to find. It was too much to hope for a cigarette butt or a ripped piece of cloth – those sorts of things only happened in detective stories.

She began casting spells she had learned in Auror training for detecting recent signs of life, while keeping an eye out for footprints in the dust. There was no organic material to be detected. Padma’s spells came out clean: no-one had been here for at least a couple of days.

She came to a hallway with small windows to one side. They were more like holes – claustrophobic and prison-like, leaking weak columns of light into the narrow hallway. Where there was a window, there was always opportunity for weakened wards.

Whoever had been up here must have gotten in from the outside, unless Padma had imagined the whole thing.

She had walked quite a way when the hallway turned and she came to the front side of the house. The larger windows that she recognised from outside offered a view to the front yard, where beyond the gate and the twisting road it was just endless, lonesome hills.

Padma watched the drizzle fall upon the brown heath, until she remembered she had been gone quite a while. She ought to go back. Parvati and Marjory were bound to wonder where she was.

On her way back, Padma cast a quick temporary ward on the double door.

When she returned downstairs, the tea and scones were put away. Parvati sat across Marjory, and some cards were laid between them on the coffee table. For a second, Padma thought that they were doing a reading, but when she looked closer, she realised that it was just a regular deck of cards.

‘The wards were broken,’ she said, interrupting whatever they were playing. Marjory and Parvati looked up at her. ‘Upstairs. I thought you should know.’

Marjory gave an odd little laugh, but to Padma, it sounded laced in panic. ‘Maybe some lads from the village…’

‘No. This has to stop,’ Padma said firmly, but not without warmth. ‘I don’t care if you’re not ready to talk about it, but we have to get you somewhere safe. You can’t stay here alone anymore. Please.’

She looked at Marjory pleadingly.

Marjory sighed. She closed her eyes for a long, weary second and when she opened them again, it looked like something had changed.

‘Katherine knew something. She was closer to Roy and his friends than I was, naturally. She would sometimes be invited in with them as they discussed things,’ Marjory said. ‘Bad things. About the upcoming war.’

Padma took the seat beside Parvati again. She held her questions in silence, waiting for her to continue.

‘She didn’t agree with him, of course,’ Marjory said. ‘We were both terrified of him and his friends.’

‘Do you think Roy… killed your sister?’ Parvati asked gingerly.

Marjory closed her eyes again. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I can’t even begin to count how many nights of my life I’ve spent trying to understand what happened. I like to think that it was him, because I can’t bear that it was Gerald – He… he was a good man, despite what some may think. But if it _was_ Roy…’

Padma looked at her hands, and noticed that Parvati was suddenly occupied with the playing cards on the table. They gave Marjory a moment to gather herself. From the corner of her eye, Padma saw her wipe a tear.

‘Gerald was a man of few words. Surly, even,’ Marjory continued. ‘But at his best he was all blue eyes and smiles. I liked him. Out of everyone there, he was truly our friend. But I saw much less of him in the weeks leading up to my sister’s death. He and Katherine spent a lot of time together. I knew something had changed, but they didn’t tell me what. I think they discussed the war. I don’t know what he was involved in.’

‘Did Gerald share Roy’s political values?’ Padma asked.

‘No, I don’t think so. At least not as strongly, I’m sure. But in those times, one had to be careful about what one told, even one’s friends,’ Marjory said. ‘Gerald and Roy were old childhood friends, and they were in the same year at Hogwarts. I think their friendship was mostly circumstantial.

‘It was a relief to me when I heard that Roy had left the country. And, I’m ashamed to admit it, I was also relieved when Gerald was locked up. I never made any trouble, I just wanted to get as far as possible from it all,’ she said.

She looked out the window.

‘I—I think I’ve known for a while that it’s bound to be one of them, Roy or Gerald,’ she said. ‘And maybe it’s time I face it.’

‘No,’ Padma said. ‘We’re setting a watch on your house. We can’t have you here alone without a way to contact us if something happens.’

She glanced at Parvati, who nodded back. ‘One of us will be close by at all times.’  
For a second, it looked like Marjory was about to protest. She looked between Padma and Parvati, distress flashing across her features at the thought of anyone invading her lonely space.

‘I’ll prepare the guest room,’ she finally said.

Padma spent the evening setting up more wards around the place while Parvati went home to fetch things she needed for the night. Padma was glad she had volunteered to take the first turn. Despite her bold words, Padma felt uneasy about spending a night in a house haunted by such sombre energies.

***

It was late in the evening when, exhausted, Padma finally returned to London. She took the Floo from the Leaky to Hermione’s place.

Hermione greeted her in an overly large t-shirt that said _Dentists’ Alliance_ in faded letters.

‘My dad’s,’ she said, spotting Padma’s grin. ‘Come in.’

Padma crossed the distance between them and leaned into the slow, much needed kiss. Then, she proceeded to collapse on the armchair, putting aside _Magical Creature Liberation_ that lay open on the footstool.

‘Are you okay?’ Hermione asked.

‘It’s been a long day,’ Padma said with a sigh. Crookshanks came to greet her and she gave him a scratch behind his furry ear. ‘I need your opinion on something. Do you think Marjory could have been involved in Katherine’s death somehow?’

Hermione had a serious, thoughtful look on her face for a moment.

‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Good,’ Padma said. ‘I think I just think I needed to hear you say that. I don’t think she was either, but I’ve been having the most horrible theories all afternoon. If she had been even partially responsible, it would give a reason for Gerald a damned good reason to come after her.’

‘If he’s innocent, he would have a reason to be bitter towards her just for allowing his conviction to go through,’ Hermione said. She came to sit on the footstool across Padma. Hermione’s face glowed in the light of the reading lamp. Her hair fell around her in a soft frizz, tempting Padma to run her fingers through it.

‘I know,’ Padma said with a sigh. ‘I was just thinking about all the reasons she wouldn’t want the Aurors involved. Were she an accomplice to either Travers or Gerald… That would be a strong reason to stay away from the MLE.’

‘Maybe Travers threatened her,’ Hermione said.

Padma gave a slow nod. ‘I think so too. But it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with Katherine’s murder. It seems clear after today that even if Marjory didn’t know the details, she knew enough about Travers’ dealings in You-Know-Who’s politics that she could have gotten him into serious trouble. Even though she’s not the most upfront sort of person, I can’t imagine her sitting on all that quietly if it weren’t for a heavy reason.’

Living through two wars, knowing that she had had the power to do something. What a heavy, heavy feeling it must have been to open the papers each time and discover more deaths.

‘She must be carrying a lot of regret,’ Hermione said.

They shared a look. Hermione’s eyes were full of emotion. Her hands rested on Padma’s knees.

‘I just keep circling back to the same thing,’ Padma said. ‘If Travers killed Katherine, he would have a motive for wanting to silence both Gerald and Marjory. Gerald could harbour vengeance towards both Marjory and Travers. Either of them could be the one sending her threatening letters now. If _Gerald_ was guilty… We have the entire question about what he was trying to achieve with Katherine’s death. I feel like we’re still missing some crucial piece.’

‘I can take the morning off tomorrow and help you,’ Hermione said. She had started to circle her thumb on the side of Padma’s knee.

‘Do you think we’ll have to tell Robards at some point?’ Padma. For the first time she was starting to worry this was bigger than them.

‘We’ll do that only as last resort,’ Hermione said, shaking her head. ‘We can figure this out. I know we can.’

Hermione climbed on top of her in the armchair and looped her arms around Padma’s neck.

Happily, Padma tangled her limbs into Hermione’s, letting her long, languid kiss draw away some of her anxiety. The fear, the disappointment, and the excitement of the day – all a tight knot within her – started to unravel as she breathed in Hermione’s intoxicating scent.

Padma deepened the kiss, wrapping her fingers in Hermione’s hair. Hermione started grinding her hips against her just slightly.

‘Upstairs,’ Hermione said, her breathing heavy.

In bed, Hermione climbed on top of her again and started kissing her hungrily.

Padma slipped both hands inside her shirt and took pleasure in the sharp hiss that Hermione gave against her mouth when Padma ran her nails along her back. Padma surprised Hermione by pulling off her shirt – it got stuck in her hair, and they laughed as Hermione struggled to get out of it.

Padma took the opportunity to turn tables, knowing Hermione had been hoping for her to.

She pinned her down, holding both her arms against the pillow.

Never breaking her intent gaze on Hermione’s eyes, Padma lowered her face close enough to almost graze her lips. Hermione tried to rise up beneath her to kiss her, but Padma pulled away at the last moment.

‘Na-ah,’ she said, loving the frustrated, little pout that had appeared on Hermione’s flushed face.

‘Padma, please,’ Hermione said.

It had taken Padma by surprise, the first time she had heard those words from Hermione’s mouth in such a pleading way. Knowing that Hermione was willing to relinquish her power to Padma fueled her hunger.

Padma brought her lips down again, and after a brief visit to Hermione’s waiting ones, she moved to tease the sensitive skin around Hermione’s neck. She dropped kisses behind Hermione’s ear, enjoying every gasp coming from her.

‘Please…’ Hermione said again.

‘Please what?’ Padma said in a low voice into Hermione’s ear, knowing that each of her breaths was sure to add to the frustration.

‘Please, do something…’ Hermione said.

‘Anything?’ Padma asked, smirking even thought Hermione couldn’t see her. She let go of Hermione’s arms. She moved down, and grazed her teeth against Hermione’s nipples carefully, knowing how sensitive Hermione was there.

Padma peeked a glance at Hermione’s delirious face and waited just a few seconds longer before she slipped a hand between her legs.

Hermione let out a moan. She moved herself against Padma’s fingers, shamelessly begging for more with her hips.

But Padma didn't want to make things easy for Hermione. She entertained her for a moment and then, suddenly pulled her hand away. Hermione tried to raise her hips in a desperate attempt to lure her back but Padma clambered back on top of her.

She brought her fingers to Hermione’s lips. The smell of her was strong and tangy between them.

Padma cupped Hermione's chin and tilted it upwards. Experimentally, she brought a hand down to Hermione’s throat. A flash of recognition passed Hermione’s face as she realised what Padma was about to do. She gave a curt nod, and Padma pressed down, careful not to press too hard, but just right. Padma watched her face for cues: Hermione’s eyes bulged slightly, and Padma knew she couldn’t be fully comfortable, but her chest rose eagerly to seek Padma’s empty hand.

Hermione bucked her hips underneath her, and Padma dug her thigh firmer between her legs, giving her a surface to slide against.

She heard a small whimper and loosened her grip around Hermione’s neck and soon enough, Hermione was gasping and trembling against Padma as her orgasm came upon them in a piercing wave.

After Hermione had stopped shaking underneath her, Padma rolled off to give her a moment by herself. Hermione seemed dazed, and was probably drifting in that cloud of emotions and spacelessness that Padma had come to recognise from trying to talk to her too soon after sex. She wouldn’t want Padma invading her space immediately. Padma needed to take a breather, anyways.

She went downstairs to get a glass of water.

The angles of the kitchen counter were sharp and pale. Padma didn’t bother with the lights. She felt her way to a glass in the cupboard.

Everything around her had a distinct aliveness to it: the translucent glass, the water trickling down her throat, the carpet decorated by a dance of moonlight and shadows. Abnormally aware of the space around her and herself in the space, for once, Padma felt like a part of it.

She refilled the glass and brought it upstairs.

She passed it to Hermione, who was lying on her side in the bed now, propped up on one arm.

‘Thanks,’ Hermione said, and took a thirsty gulp before putting the glass down on the bedside table.

In the warm glow of the bedroom lamp, the sharp moment Padma had experienced was gone.

Hermione appeared more coherent than a minute ago. Crookshanks was in the bed with her, and Hermione stroked his fur absently. Light danced on her naked, damp skin.

‘I never knew I could come without being touched,’ Hermione said. She still sounded a little dazed, but gave Padma a fond little smile. ‘That was hot.’

‘It was,’ Padma said. 

‘You didn't come,’ Hermione pointed out.

‘It’s okay. You’ll make me come next time, I’ll make sure of it,’ Padma said, giving her a weary, but teasing smile.

‘Yeah?’

Hermione’s smile met hers. She patted the mattress, beckoning Padma to bed with her. Crookshanks jumped off as Padma sat down on the edge of the bed.

Padma didn’t have the words for this moment, so she just brushed a curl off Hermione’s sweaty face.

‘I bet you have a lot of thoughts after that too,’ Hermione said. ‘I would love to know how you feel, but we don’t have to talk about it now.’

‘Later,’ Padma promised.

She was starting to feel a drowsy cloudiness rise within her again. She didn’t want to experience this now: she wanted to be able to be there wholly for Hermione and enjoy the aftermath of what had been a revolutionary experience for both of them.

‘I need cuddles,’ Hermione said, tugging on Padma’s arm.

‘Of course,’ Padma said.

She snuggled up close to Hermione mechanically, letting her musky scent fill her nose. She wasn't good at this part – the intimacy – but she wrapped her arm around Hermione regardless and let her wiggle in closer. She tried to center on the deep, calming breaths coming from the woman beside her.

Padma buried her nose into Hermione’s hair, breathed the scent of her shampoo and tried to drown out the sudden, rising panic within her.

_If you knew how I was feeling right now, would you want to be with me?_ she asked Hermione quietly. _Or would you feel cheated? Would you find someone who is better at being with you?_

Hermione’s breathing started to deepen next to her. Her hand that had been gripping Padma’s, loosened its hold in reply.

_Any moment, I could get up and walk out the door._

Padma saw herself doing it. Lightly untwining herself from around Hermione. Finding her clothes scattered on the floor around the bed. Stopping pretending she could have this. Leaving, and cutting her ties from this fucked-up reality, where she was in the arms of her girlfriend but still felt like an alien.

***

‘Mmmh,’ Padma moaned. ‘Your hair’s in my face.’

The figure next to her moved just when Padma brushed a curl of hair out of her mouth and was about to nuzzle closer.

‘Usually it’s Crookshanks and his infuriating fur. You could almost say it’s a house specialty,’ Hermione said as she turned around, pulling the blanket in tighter. Then, conscious of having stolen Padma’s source of warmth, she smoothed it out so that it covered them both again.

She smiled in a way that made Padma’s breath stop for a second, all sunlight in the faint light of morning that stubbornly crept in through the curtains.

‘Morning,’ Hermione said.

‘Morning,’ Padma said back, and felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

After a quick peck on Padma’s lips, Hermione climbed out of bed. She hummed a little tune and went to open the curtains, letting in a bit of harsh, white light.

Of course, Hermione was not one to waste her day in bed. Padma had suspected it, but it still amused her to see the way Hermione bustled about, pulling out underwear from the dresser, and emitting a general aura of cheerfulness.

‘I’ll go make us tea— no wait, you’ll be wanting coffee. I’ll see if I still have my old percolator stashed away somewhere, and if I don’t I can try to Transfigure something into one…’ Hermione’s voice trailed off as she left the room, and was replaced by her footsteps and clatter from around the house.

Crookshanks bounced onto the bed, and Padma took a moment to pet him. She smiled by herself at what Hermione had just said about his fur.

Hermione came back into the room, a toothbrush dangling from her mouth, and started digging for something in the dresser.

‘Never neglect your dental care. Thash wha’ my parentsh alwaysh shaid,’ she said. A trail of toothpaste trickled down her chin and she wiped it with her hand. ‘I have extra toothbrushes for guests in the cupboard below the sink, if you need one.’

She leaned above the bed and gave Padma’s head a ruffle. Crookshanks pounced off the bed, anticipating breakfast, and soon they were both out the door again and Padma was by herself.

Padma sat up in the bed and just let herself take in everything she was feeling for a moment. She didn’t feel altogether present now, but it was more bearable in the light of the day. She had stayed the night and that itself brought lightness to her heart.

At some point, she had been convinced that she would cave into the urge brought by her strange lapse of reality. But here she was, and the memories of the night were hazier by the minute.

The smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen convinced her now was a good time to get up. She made the bed and found something to wear: her clothes from the night before were in a heap at the end of the bed and she gave them a quick Refreshment with a tap of her wand.

When she came downstairs, Hermione was wearing a blue apron and stirring something in a pot on the stove. Padma leaned in to kiss her, and Hermione stopped what she was doing, melting against her lips for a warm, delicious moment.

‘So, last night,’ Padma said.

‘Last night,’ Hermione said, ‘was pretty amazing.’

‘I’m sorry, we should have talked about it before,’ Padma said, meeting her grin with an apologetic one.

‘That would have ruined the momentum,’ Hermione said. ‘But as a general rule, we probably should talk about these things beforehand.’

‘Yeah, we should,’ Padma said with a grimace. ‘I don’t really know what I’m doing half the time. I just think about what you might like, and go by instinct. I see you react in some way and that second I’m hit by an idea of what to do next.’

‘And you haven’t been wrong about it. I’ve loved what we do. God, every time you tell me to turn around in that voice of yours, or pin my arms back before you sit on my face…’

Padma grinned a shy smile, unable to stop a bubbling feeling from spreading inside her.

Hermione enjoyed living in the realm of ideas as much as she did, where sex was less about physical closeness and emotional presence.

‘I think you need that,’ Hermione said.

‘Need what?’

‘To pretend you know what you’re doing even if you don’t have a clue,’ she said. ‘We're both a bit on the anxious side and hate giving up control, but the way our anxieties manifest is also very different. In _The Ultimate Guide to Sexual Fantasies_ , they talk about all the different things that may motivate kinkier fantasies. I think you need to take power despite your cluelessness, whereas I need to learn to let go and let someone else take care of things. Sorry if I’m psychoanalysing you.’

‘Don’t stop, it turns me on,’ Padma said, grinning.

‘You Ravenclaws and your ridiculous brains,’ Hermione said with a shake of her head.

‘You Gryffindors and your thrill-seeking ways,’ Padma said back.

Hermione gave her an amused look and turned to work on breakfast. She ground some cardamom in a palm-sized mortar, and tapped it so that the dark flecks trickled into the thick, bubbling porridge.

Padma had never shared Potions class with the Gryffindors, but if she had, she would have probably realised she had a crush on Hermione even earlier. Hermione looked tranquil, yet every bit focused even with a task so mundane and homey. Padma loved how generously she committed her energies to everything she did.

‘It’s not all about the thrill, you know,’ Hermione said, taking two bowls from the drying rack. ‘I just want you to know that. I love it because it’s _us_. I feel close to you, closer than ever, when we have sex like that.’

Padma swallowed the words she had been about to say.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Me too.’

It was true, in a way. She had never felt as close to anyone, even when she had been a second away from spilling how happy she was that Hermione didn’t mind her getting lost in her head sometimes.

‘We should do more soft things. Take it slow sometimes. Cuddle. I forget sometimes how important that is,’ Hermione said. ‘I want to be able to do everything with you.’

She beamed at Padma, and started ladling some porridge into her bowl.

‘Yeah,’ Padma said again.

‘Here.’ Hermione passed her a bowl. ‘It’s like my Dad used to make it, when my Mum had an early shift. Dad did most of the cooking, really. Mum liked to bake bread.’

Their cups of tea and coffee found their way to the table under her razor-sharp Levitating Charm that seemed to anticipate in its angle the sloshing of the liquid. Padma wondered when Hermione had had time to learn that. She never stopped being impressed with how casually Hermione took everything around her and improved it.

Padma took the seat across Hermione. She sipped the strong, black coffee, letting its rich taste excite her nerves. The porridge was nutty and creamy, the moment languid and ample.

The light pooling in softly from the window was pale and bright, perfect for reading without the sun glaring in one’s eye.

Hermione was immersed in her Muggle newspaper, and Padma grabbed a random book off the pile on the table to match her. It was a dense book on political history. Her eyes ran lazily over a few sentences, but she couldn’t resist a peek across her at Hermione every few seconds.

Despite the way the light danced around the edges of the scene, painting it in a slightly surreal light, a deep contentment filled her. Right now, she felt closer than ever to that feeling of presence she imagined everyone must feel in the important moments of their life.

Just as she let herself have that thought, the threads in her head stirred, and swirls of thought began to leak out of wherever they had been hiding. Perhaps she wasn’t that present after all.

_I’m thinking again. I’m thinking about us sitting across each other like this, and about what we look like from the outside_ , Padma thought. It didn’t matter, it was all good. She was sharing breakfast with Hermione and she was happier than she had been in months. The chair was hard and sturdy under her bum, the smell of coffee and breakfast weren’t things she was making up. This was her life, this was _their_ life, and everyone had moments when their mind latched onto projections of a life ten years in the future across this or some other table, because being in the present verged on panic.

Padma felt something brush her leg and looked down to see Crookshanks circling at her feet.

‘Crooks…’ she said, and brought down a hand to pet him. She felt a rush of gratitude and a sudden, warm connection with him. Crookshanks had sensed her energies and her need for a distraction.

He butted his massive head against her hand, until he had enough of her affections and jumped up to take his prized spot at the windowsill.

Padma looked up to see Hermione watching her.

_I’m in love with you_ , Padma thought, meeting her warm, brown eyes. The thought seemed to come out of nowhere. It was like the ring of a bell, vibrating with a clear, strong chime in all the space and order that suddenly existed where a dark mess usually overruled her mind. She blinked to stop tears pooling into her eyes. They too seemed to have come out of nowhere.

She repeated the words again inside her head, and could feel a swelling of her heart as she stared at Hermione. From her direct, open stare back, she imagined that Hermione could hear her every thought. Maybe she could – her lips curved into a tiny smile, and Padma could see from the glistening in her eyes that she was emotional as well.

> Image Description: Hermione and Padma sit at a kitchen table with mugs of coffee. Morning light streams in, and hanging plants are swaying in the window. Hermione is engrossed in her newspaper, but Padma is ignoring her book in favor of watching Hermione. Art by ravenclawkward-art. End description.

They spent the next moment smiling like two idiots at each other, before Padma let out a snort that broke the silence.

‘You’re cute,’ she said boldly.

‘Shut up,’ Hermione said. She folded the paper and slurped the remainders of her humongous mug of tea.

All of a sudden, Crookshanks jumped off the windowsill. His hairs were sticking up. Padma looked outside and saw an owl that she recognised immediately.

The letter was from Parvati.

Padma took the letter with careful fingers and unfolded it. There was no envelope and the message within was short.

_I’ve found Gerald._

***

Padma and Hermione met Parvati at Marjory’s, after they had hastily pulled on their cloaks and jumped into the Floo. Padma was confused when Parvati slipped outside with them instead of letting them inside.

‘What’s going on?’ Padma asked.

‘Marjory’s in the parlour, having tea,’ Parvati said. ‘I’ll invite you inside in a bit. She doesn’t know about what happened last night.’ Parvati wrinkled her nose and gave a look of annoyance at the gray skies. She pointed her wand upwards, shielding them from the drizzle, and wrapped the shawl she carried tighter around her shoulders. ‘Last night, it was getting a little oppressive with just the two of us, so I went out for a walk.’

‘You left Marjory alone?’ said Padma.

‘I wasn’t going to go far,’ Parvati huffed. ‘ _Anyway_ , I walked on the road, because I didn’t fancy spraining my ankle. It was close to ten, and pretty dark outside, so I had a Lumos going, and then I heard the crack of Apparition, and you won’t believe this.’ She moved her hand animatedly. ‘It was _him_.’

Padma’s heart had started thumping wildly. ‘How do you know it was Gerald?’

‘He was just a few yards from me,’ Parvati insisted. ‘He saw my light and Disapparated on the spot, but before he did, I had a good look at him. He was greyed-out, and old, of course, but he had the same strong brow and blue eyes as in the picture. He was quite brawny for an old man.’

Padma nodded slowly. ‘It was him then, tinkering with the gate, that first time we were here,’ Padma said. _And the man I saw at the pub that day_ , she thought with a shiver.

‘I guess we’ll have to give up on the thought of Travers being involved,’ Hermione said. ‘Although I’m sure he’s guilty of something. That man is heinous.’

‘It’s so creepy,’ Parvati said. ‘What does Gerald want with her?’

‘That’s yet to discover,’ Padma said. ‘And I hope we won’t have to find out the bad way. We need to plan a stake-out. Wait for him to come here again.’

‘Count me — in.’ Parvati yawned loudly. ‘I’m waiting for you to take over, so I can go home and take a nap. When I came back in last night, I was too scared to leave Marjory unwatched, so I stayed outside her bedroom the whole night and barely slept at all.’

‘We left in a hurry, so I didn’t bring anything I need for the day,’ Padma said, wincing at the look of despair on Parvati’s face. ‘Sorry. I’ll go back with Hermione and come back right after.’

***

Padma barely felt the shock of Disapparition when they left for the pub to go back to London. Her body tingled from adrenaline from the sudden leap forward in the case. Padma’s mind burned with thoughts: questions, wild theories, and a list of things she needed from the office.

She felt a strange sense of trepidation as she opened the door to the pub.

A familiar man was standing in front of the Floo. His head turned as they stepped inside.

It was one of Roy Travers’ security guards.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Soon enough, like most things in Padma’s life tended to go, everything started going to shit.

Padma had always felt a strange disconnect from people. It seemed to have been in place since she was born, although for some inexplicable reason Padma was also certain that she had somehow consciously brought it upon herself. She felt it with everyone: her family, her friends from school, and now, she had started to feel it with Hermione, too.

The novel, uncertain happiness she had been feeling about their sexual connection was gone, overridden by everything that had begun to chip at her self-esteem since that morning spent in domestic bliss. It was little things: How Hermione didn’t bring it up, but Padma could sense the expectation in her long looks and lingering touches. How she pretended not to be hurt by how Padma barely ever initiated any closeness that wasn’t sex.

The good thing was, Padma barely had to deal with it. Ever since spotting Travers’ security guard in Scotland, they had had a lot on their plate. With the decision to keep an eye on Marjory, and spending every other spare moment tracking Travers, Padma and Parvati were drowning in work.

Hermione helped when she wasn’t needed at the Aurors. During the past few days, their time together could be summed in a few quick pecks while changing shifts, words exchanged on the case, and some confused looks from Hermione that Padma pretended not to see.

But the insidious thing about avoiding someone is that after a while, one’s image of them started to become poisoned.

‘I think I see someone coming out,’ Hermione said. ‘Nevermind… Just a trick of the light.’

Parvati was in Scotland again. Padma and Hermione were watching Travers’ house: a rare moment together. Padma had been there for the better part of the day and Hermione had hopped along with her Omnioculars to join her after her work day ended.

Despite the cushioned Warming-Charm she used to insulate herself against the hard, October ground, Padma’s body ached from being seated at her watch place for hours.

It was useless, really, when the man had a Floo. He could come and go as he liked. They had sniffed out all that they could of Travers’ public calendar, scheduling much-needed naps and times at the office in the windows where they knew he was visiting a brewery, or handling paperwork at the Ministry. But a lot of their time was spent staring at the house that barely saw any action, but for the rare occasion that Travers happened to walk by the window.

The heavy blanket of exhaustion was starting to weigh down on Padma. She rubbed her eyes – they felt dry and tired – and tried to focus on the notes in front of her as Hermione watched the house. It reminded her of the sickening exhaustion she driven herself to when studying for her O.W.L.s.

‘Maybe we should take a break,’ Hermione suggested.

‘I can’t take a break,’ Padma said. ‘It’s been nearly two bloody weeks. Marjory has played nothing but the gracious hostess, but I can see that she’s starting to become stressed out that we haven’t made any progress.’

‘You’re not doing anything useful by driving yourself to exhaustion. Come on, let’s walk for a bit. Snog for a while. We’ve barely spent any time together in the last week.’

‘Well, it’s not your livelihood and future that lies upon this, is it?’ Padma snapped. ‘My paycheck isn't rolling in every month like yours.’

Hermione looked mortified, and Padma immediately regretted her words.

‘Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean that,’ Padma said. 

‘I know. I’m just trying to help,’ Hermione said. She let the Omnioculars hang from her neck. She stretched out a gloved hand and Padma squeezed it.

‘I’m sorry,’ Padma said. ‘When this is all over, I’ll make up for it.’

She didn’t quite look at Hermione when she said so. Padma took a sip of her coffee that kept warm in the charmed travel mug she had borrowed from Parvati, and tried to keep her negative thoughts in check.

Hermione wanted to be so goddamn constructive about everything. It was like she had read the manual to balanced relationships and was trying to follow it word to word. It was exhausting. Sometimes Padma didn’t have the energy for it. Sometimes she wanted to cave into her old habits and run.

As if to confirm her words, Hermione started talking again.

‘I could come to yours tonight, if you’d like,’ she suggested. ‘You always come to mine, and I haven’t considered how it must be a lot for you to schedule your life around mine when you’re so busy.’

Padma cut her off. ‘I’m going to Marjory’s again tonight.’

Hermione’s brow stretched into a line. ‘Right. I forgot.’

She turned to look at the house again, but just for a moment. One restless second later, she had turned back to Padma again.

‘I’ve been trying to give you space because I know you’re stressed,’ Hermione said. ‘But I’m starting to wonder if there’s actually something else that is bothering you. I was waiting for you to talk about it. But I’m starting to suspect you never will.’

In an instant, Padma was seized by a panic, rivalled only by irritation. Who was Hermione to decide what Padma was feeling? If Hermione had wanted to talk, why hadn’t she said so before? Why was she now rolling it out like Padma was at fault?

‘Just a few days ago you seemed… nevermind,’ Hermione said. She looked at Padma’s face searchingly. ‘I don’t care what it is, Padma. I just want you to talk to me so that I know what’s going on. Then we can find out what to do.’

Something within Padma wanted desperately to let go of all the fear she was holding and latch onto the lifeline thrown at her, that made it sound like this was something she could be helped with. But a stronger part of her persevered.

 _I’m not a problem for you to fix_ , Padma thought sourly. The logical part of her brain warned her that this was not a conversation to be had after five cups of coffee when her anxiety levels were knocking at a new high, but before she knew it, she was already blurting out the words.

‘Maybe we’re just too different,’ Padma said.

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked. A wary edge had appeared to her tone.

‘You want different things,’ Padma said. She stared down at the ground, where the air rippled slightly from her Warming Charm.

‘What do you think I want? I’ve never even told you.’ There was a clear panic to her voice now. ‘Padma, where is this coming from?’ 

‘Just say it, won’t you? That I’m not like you thought I would be,’ Padma said. ‘If you’re looking for someone to be all happy and sappy with, then look somewhere else. It’s not me. I don’t do romance.’

It came out harshly, but she was relieved to finally express the thoughts that had been gnawing at her. Padma braved a glance at Hermione. Hermione’s eyes were wet with tears of shock.

‘Well, thanks for finally making that clear,’ Hermione said. She unlooped the Omnioculars from around her neck and started shoving them into her rucksack.

Padma hadn’t expected her to give up so easily.

She felt a burning feeling in her own eyes, but blinked away the tears before they had a chance to rise.

Padma didn’t do anything to stop her as Hermione’s moss-coloured cloak blended into the scenery as she Apparated. But she thought she could still feel a cold breath of air where Hermione had left.

***

‘Where’s Hermione? I thought she was supposed to go over next week's plan with us,’ said Parvati as Padma entered the office. She was stationed in front of the case board, organising some notes. ‘I think we need to try a different tack. We’re not getting anywhere like this. Today was another wasted day,’ she continued, echoing all the thoughts in Padma’s head. ‘Although I did have some killer scones once again.’

Padma ignored her, and proceeded to stride past the sitting area into the kitchenette, where a fresh pot of coffee was waiting, ready to help her get back to her old, effective rhythms.

‘Padma? Did something happen?’

Padma felt an angry tear swell at her eye and wiped it away quickly. Not pausing to consider that Parvati may have wanted some herself, she sloshed the entire contents of the pot into her cup. Some of it poured over onto the counter, and Padma slammed the pot down furiously.

‘She needs to focus on her Auror work. It was stupid, anyway,’ she said, turning to Parvati. ‘Did you know she wasn’t even assigned the Marjory case?’

Parvati frowned. ‘Really? That’s odd. Do you think she just wanted a chance to spend time with you again?’

‘She was already on the case before Marjory came to us, remember?’ Padma said. Her hand shook as she tried to cast Evanesco on the spilled coffee. She would have to get back her clothes from Hermione’s flat, unless Hermione owled them to her first.

Padma returned with her hard-earned coffee and looked at the board.

‘Did you two fight?’ Parvati asked, concern in her voice.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Padma said off-handedly. ‘Now, since it’s just the two of us, we’re going to have to re-strategise. I say we ditch Travers entirely. He’s too slippery.’ She started moving some papers around on the board, taking a step back to gaze at them thoughtfully. ‘If I handle the watch tomorrow, maybe you can spend tomorrow trying to hound down one of the retired Aurors who were on Katherine’s case. He’s ancient, but he might remember something.’

‘Parvati?’ Padma said when she didn’t hear a response.

Parvati had curled up into the shape of an egg – an egg that was trembling quietly at one end of the sofa.

‘Parvati?’ Padma started again, but her voice died in her throat.

Parvati barely appeared to be breathing for how still she was holding herself. She quivered just slightly; only from the occasional sniffle that escaped, Padma knew that she was crying.

She stepped quietly across the office floor and sat on the other arm of the sofa, unsure if Parvati wanted her to give her space.

‘Do you need a moment alone?’ Padma asked, like an idiot. _She_ really wanted to leave. She had no idea what to do here, no idea what had happened and how her company could be of any help.

Padma lowered herself down from her perch on the sofa arm, and took a seat beside Parvati. Parvati’s sniffles had become louder; her gasps for breath could be heard through her voluminous scarf that she had pressed her face in.

Padma just sat there awkwardly, thinking that if life was measured by how one acted in moments like these, hers would equate to a full nothing. Parvati was the one who knew what to do when someone needed support. Parvati would have known how to say the right words, to reach out a hand or to hug someone when they needed it. But now Parvati was falling to pieces in front of her.

Padma scooted closer. She hesitated, and then placed a careful hand on Parvati’s shoulder.

Parvati leaned into her touch just slightly, and started shaking. Padma wrapped her arm around her uncertainly, hoping that where her words failed her, her touch could maybe give Parvati some kind of comfort.

A cry came out of the scarf, and suddenly Padma had her arms full of a sobbing, wailing Parvati, whose uncontrollable tears had started coming at an unstoppable flood. Her scarf, wet from snot and tears, slipped from her face. She was blotchy and red underneath. She buried her face in Padma’s arms.

Padma’s heart ached so hard she thought it would break. Her head felt clouded, thoughts were running through her mind like doxies through a dusty house. Padma had never seen Parvati cry like this in her entire life. She felt in cold, sinking horror that this was somehow her fault. Parvati had been very emotional as a child, crying when she wanted attention and sometimes out of what felt like nothing. Padma had clung to a childish sense of superiority: how their parents didn’t have to worry about what to do with _her_ , because she knew how to contain herself. But now, she also remembered being envious that Parvati was able to experience life to its fullest drama.

After some minutes, Parvati’s shaking started to calm down.

‘Sorry,’ Parvati said after her breathing had started to calm down. She broke away from Padma’s hug, but still stayed close to her. She dug her cloak pockets for a handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. ‘It just came out,’ she said. ‘I guess I went too long without crying.’

‘It’s okay,’ Padma said softly.

‘I—I thought about Lavender today. I think about her every day, but this morning I was missing her more than usual. Sometimes there’s days like that, when she’s just there in my thoughts and in my heart since the moment I wake up.’

‘I’m so sorry, Parvati,’ Padma said.

‘There’s something I never told you, Padma.’

She paused.

‘Lavender and I weren’t just best friends. We were — we were…’ She let out a sniffle. 

‘I didn’t know,’ Padma said. She couldn’t understand how such a huge thing about her sister had missed her notice. How Parvati must have felt, keeping it all in.

‘We got together during seventh year. I wasn’t ready to talk about it then,’ Parvati said.

‘And you couldn’t talk about it after she…’ Padma continued for her.

Parvati nodded, tears rolling down her face again. She took a huff of breath. ‘No. But you can talk about it. Yet all you talk about is how busy Hermione is, and how she’s ruining your investigation and all I can think is – don’t you see how incredibly lucky you are?’

Padma went silent for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. ‘I’m sorry for not being there for you when you needed it the most,’ she said, but it sounded woefully inadequate.

‘You were there for me, in a way. You were there by being normal and annoying, ranting about your stupid school things,’ Parvati said. ‘And I’m not saying you can’t talk about your problems to me. I just… Today was a bad day.’ Parvati sighed. ‘You know, Lavender would have loved this. Working with us on the case.’

When Padma struggled to contain her disbelieving look, Parvati said, ‘Oh, you can say it aloud. I'm not going to break if you talk about her. Lavender may not have been very smart, but she was a huge gossip. Of course she would have loved to dig into people's private lives.’

Padma couldn't help but smile at her sister's frank tone, and Parvati returned the smile, before falling quiet again. Tears started collecting in her eyes again.

‘I couldn’t stop her from doing it,’ she said. ‘That’s what haunts me. I’ll never know what went on in her mind in those last few moments. I knew her best, I _loved her best_ , and I couldn’t make her want to live enough to fight whatever was killing her.’

‘You couldn’t have known,’ Padma said.

‘I know. I just wish I had visited her that last day,’ Parvati sighed. ‘I’ve tried to accept it, and for the most part I have. But some days it just spirals again. What if it was her medication? What if it made her go mad? Healers barely know how to treat lycanthropy. No-one has cared enough in the past to properly study it. What if Lavender was in there somewhere, and wanted to live, but she was just unable to fight it?’

Padma was suddenly taken by the horrible image of Lavender, hollow-eyed and torn, walking through the empty hallways of St. Mungo’s at night, urged to her doom by the new presence inside of her.

Thinking about it made her sick.

She gave Parvati a squeeze. Despite her best efforts to contain them, some teardrops rolled down her cheek into Parvati’s hair.

‘I’ll go make us some tea,’ Padma said. She let go of Parvati and slipped away towards the kitchenette.

Tears started dropping freely as soon as she was free. She could barely see where she was going from the mist covering her eyes. Luckily, she knew her way around the small office.

She laid out the tea things, finding comfort in the familiar ritual of it. Her sniffles were covered by the whistle of the kettle. It was only now that it dawned on her that Parvati’s decision to sign up for Healer training had probably been influenced by Lavender’s fate.

She came back with two steaming cups of their dadi’s favourite herbal blend.

‘I haven’t cried since practically forever,’ she said, putting down the cups on the coffee table. She met Parvati’s red-rimmed eyes. ‘I always thought I was a bit of a sociopath,’ she joked, and let out a small sniffle.

‘Padma!’ Parvati exclaimed. ‘How could you say such a thing?

Padma shrugged. ‘I’m just not good at — ah, feelings.’

‘What are you talking about? You help people for a living. You’re incredibly sharp when it comes to picking up on people’s emotions and motivations,’ Parvati said.

Padma twirled her spoon in her cup, suddenly uncomfortable again.

‘You just need some practice dealing with your own feelings,’ Parvati said. ‘It’s not your fault. I love Mum and Dad, and they definitely always tried to do what was best for us, but emotional intelligence wasn’t the biggest value we were brought up on.’

Padma frowned.

‘That actually makes sense,’ Padma said.

‘My Mind Healer's words, not mine,’ Parvati said with a soft grin.

Padma sat back on the sofa and pulled her knees in close. The cup of tea was warm in her hands. ‘Mum takes so much pride in being a good mum.’

‘Yeah,’ Parvati said, giving a small smile. ‘She was crazy efficient. Remember the food plans she used to make when we were still kids? She’d give Dopky half a year of meal plans in one go.’

‘What, no!’ Padma said. ‘I forgot about those.’

Her smile turned into a sad one. She thought about how it all must have affected her parents: living through two wizarding wars, her mother a half-blood to top it off.

‘I just wish they didn’t always think they knew what’s best for us,’ Padma said. ‘Dad in particular.’

‘I just let everything he says go in one ear and out the other,’ Parvati said.

 _I wish I were like you_ , Padma thought. _I wish I could just stop caring about what he thinks._

‘You know, you’re a lot like him,’ Parvati said. ‘I don't mean it in a bad way. You're driven and smart and you don’t care about what other people think.’

‘That’s not true,’ Padma said. ‘I might not give a damn about what most people think, but I care about what they think.’ She put down her half-drunk tea on the coffee table and wrapped around herself again. ‘Daddy just doesn’t care,’ she continued. ‘He wasn’t even listening when I tried to explain about the case.’

‘He cares in his own way,’ Parvati said, ‘He worries. He really just wants to make sure that we’re safe and doing sensible things with our lives.’

‘I just want him to be happy for me about the kind of life that makes me happy.’

‘That’s the only kind of happiness he can imagine. Honestly, I think anything else kind of scares him,’ Parvati said. ‘Speaking of happiness…’

Padma groaned. There was no escaping Parvati.

‘I don’t know what happened, but I doubt even _you_ could have messed up so badly that Hermione wouldn’t want to talk to you.’

‘Thanks,’ Padma said sarcastically.

‘So don’t you dare let your stupid self-loathing stop you from going after what could make you happy,’ Parvati finally said, turning to her. Her eyes were shining with a new string of tears. ‘She really cares about you. Anyone can see that. And you have to admit that you’ve had much more fun working with her.’

‘I wouldn’t call chasing a possible madman fun,’ Padma pointed out.

‘Oh my god, can you stop being full of shite for even one minute, Padma?’ Parvati said, rolling her eyes at her. ‘I swear, if you’re not going to make things better with her, maybe _I’ll_ ask Hermione out. She’s certainly improved since school.’

‘Parvati!’

‘You can’t bear the thought of someone liking you,’ Parvati said. She was teasing her now. She elbowed Padma in the ribs. ‘Letting her love you will mean you finally have to like yourself.’

‘Yeah,’ Padma croaked. She couldn’t look at Parvati directly, and focused on the teacups on the table instead. ‘When did you become so…’

‘Wise and sagely? I cultivated other talents while you focused on your academics and Auror thing,’ she said. ‘And I went through two years of Mind Healing. And really, Mum and Dad were just less hard on me when they figured I’m a lost cause.’

Padma gave a snort.

‘Mostly it was Lavender,’ Parvati said. ‘I was lucky to have a best friend like her.’

***

‘Let me know if you need anything, alright?’ Padma said. ‘Anything.’

‘Right now I just really need to sleep,’ Parvati said with a yawn. ‘G’night, Padma.’

Padma spelled out the light and took one last look around the room. It was surreal and oppressive under the faint light pooling through the sheer curtain: shadow objects from a different world.

The sick feeling of self-loathing crept up her stomach again, reminding her that while she may have been there for Parvati tonight, it had just been one night. She would do better, that’s all there was to it. She would take her bullshit, package it up and dump it into the depths of nothingness, where it couldn’t harm people around her again.

Padma closed the door behind her and tiptoed downstairs, wondering if it would be safe to use the Floo without waking her parents up. The stairs creaked despite her light treading.

‘Padma!’

Her mother stood in the hallway, hands at her hips. She looked at Padma in an odd way, a flash of something passing her features as she searched Padma’s face. Padma realized she must have looked a mess, tear-streaked and puffy after all the crying.

‘Please don’t wake up Dad,’ Padma said.

‘Your dad’s on a business trip,’ she said. ‘Did you forget?’

Padma was used to her dad coming and going that she no longer kept check. She shook her head.

Her mum gave one last sharp look at her, but whatever she had been about to say died at her lips. She gave a small shrug and beckoned at Padma.

‘Come,’ she said. ‘Help me make tea.’

Padma followed her dumbly through the dining room into the small kitchen. There was a proper one downstairs, where Dopky worked his magic, but this one was for them. It saw very little use apart from late-night tea.

She sat on a kitchen stool as her mum heated up milk. As always, Mum applied her efficiency and decisiveness to the task, making Padma feel unhelpful and child-like. But Padma didn’t have the energy to care, the tiredness settling in after what had been an intense, emotional ride.

‘Is everything alright with Parvati?’

‘Mnn,’ Padma affirmed with a hum. ‘She’s asleep.’

Mum nodded and poured out the milk. ‘You’re a good sister.’

 _No, I’m really not_ ,’ Padma thought.

They took their tea in silence. Padma heard a rustle and looked across the table to see that Mum had unwrapped some Honeydukes Best Chocolate. She gave Padma a conspiratory look and broke off a piece, handing it to her.

The chocolate was rich and creamy. It melted in Padma’s mouth, aided by the tea that was heavy with milk and warm with spices. A part of her wanted to stay grounded to this spot for forever, and let herself be calmed by the warm tea in her stomach. But another part of her was ready to leave. A bit of cold, night air would do her good. And she still needed to get to Marjory’s for her watch.

‘I should go,’ Padma said. Her words broke the languid thickness of the moment.

‘It’s late. You shouldn’t be alone in that neighborhood. It’s full of—’

‘I know. I’m not an idiot, as much as Daddy seems to think I am. I’ll stay safe.’ Padma noticed her mum’s look and added, ‘Sorry.’

‘Your dad loves you,’ Mum said.

Padma nodded.

‘Padma,’ her mum continued. ‘Whatever you might think, you haven’t failed me.’

Padma felt a new round of tears start to well up in her eyes, rising from some unknown source. She had thought she was all dried up by now. She blinked and snuck a look across the table: her mum looked tense, her lips a strained line, and she stared into her teacup.

‘I know, Mum,’ Padma said. ‘Good night.’


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

If one ignored the gnawing, hollow silence that seemed to hang over her relationship with Hermione, Padma’s life was going pretty well. Marjory was not obstructing the investigation. She hadn’t been evicted from her flat. And her relationship with Parvati had never been as close.

They had worked relentlessly together for the past few days, spending endless hours at Macmillan House and around the detective board and Parvati’s desk trying to rake through the information they had.

It was good to have Parvati around. Padma was still raw from all the feelings she had been processing. It was almost unbearable, but preferable to the numbness of the past few days: at least she wasn’t avoiding her feelings anymore.

Now her main focus was in following the frail threads surrounding Gerald Selwyn, piecing together the puzzle of his life after his release from Azkaban.

Gerald had never reconnected with his family. Perhaps for the best: the criminal records for many of his family members were longer than the list of health-code violations at Madam Puddifoot’s. By the time Gerald himself was released, his older brother was sitting in Azkaban himself, guilty for participating in multiple violent raids against Muggles.

Padma had managed to scrape together some records of his old jobs: he had spent some years in the south of Ireland, working odd jobs as caretaker and delivery man. After that he had disappeared for several years – Padma suspected him to have moved out before the conflicts affecting Muggle Ireland got too intense.

She was fairly certain that a Muggle man called Fogal Smith, who lived on the Isle of Skye and worked in forestry had in fact been him: the picture of the brooding man in a newspaper article she had found looked exactly like the man she had seen staring at her in the pub.

Nothing pointed strongly to his guilt, except the obvious need to distance himself from everything.

Padma sighed. She almost hoped something would happen soon, that whoever it was, he would just show himself. Then they could all be at rest.

‘Coffee?’ she asked Parvati.

‘Yes, please,’ Parvati said.

Padma fetched them both a cup, not forgetting to add the copious milk and sugar she knew Parvati liked to one of them.

There was a sudden knock on the door. Padma nearly dropped the cups, startled by the surreal sound she hadn’t heard in days. She and Parvati had lived in the kind of amicable silence that came from years of sisterhood.

Some pizza boxes floated in, followed by Hermione.

Padma’s heart nearly stopped when she saw her. She had left Hermione multiple owls in the two days since their fight, but hadn't received a reply.

Hermione wasn’t wearing her Auror robes. Her eyes were a little red around the rims, which was probably just tiredness, but made Padma wonder if she had been crying. Padma tried to catch her eye, but Hermione avoided her glance.

‘Pizza?’ Hermione said, sounding tired. She brought the Levitation Spell to end at the coffee table. ‘I got vegetarian for you, Parvati.’

Awkwardly, Padma approached her, unsure how Hermione wanted her to behave. Thoughts raced through her mind like Quaffles. Was the pizza a peace-offering, and if so, what did Hermione think she had to apologise for? It was Padma who had been wrong.

‘Thanks. What’re you doing here?’ Parvati said. ‘I mean, it’s nice to see you, and all, but has something happened?’ She gave a look at Padma, which said: _this idiot definitely hasn’t done anything to get you back_.

Hermione opened a box and sent a small cutting spell from the tip of her wand. The pizza split into perfectly even pieces.

Padma braved a step closer. She took a slice and buried her teeth in the greasy cheese.

‘As it happens, I received a letter from Robards today,’ Hermione said. There was an airiness to her voice that they all knew was false. ‘He said there’s no need for me to go back to work today. Or for the rest of this week, for that matter, not until they decide what my repercussions will be for disobeying orders.’

Padma drew in a sharp breath. ‘You’re getting sacked?’ she said. ‘That’s complete pillocks!’

Hermione finally looked at her for the first time since she arrived. Her eyes seemed to communicate a myriad of emotions: hurt, sadness, questions. The pizza turned powdery in Padma’s mouth and she swallowed self-consciously.

‘It’s just the first warning. If it does come to discussing my dismissal, I can try to talk to Shacklebolt and ask him to vouch for me. But it still feels lousy,’ she said. ‘Looking on the bright side, I have plenty of time to work on the Marjory case now.’

‘We were just about to go up there again soon,’ Padma said. ‘I spent a couple of hours at the archives this morning and Parvati—’

Parvati let out a shriek.

A large, white bird had swooped through the wall, landing on top of the coffee table. It was a Patronus, in the shape of a hawk. It stared at them for a sharp moment before it vanished into a wisp.

They looked at each other in alarm.

‘Who the hell could have sent that?’ Parvati asked.

‘Marjory doesn’t know how to cast a Patronus,’ Hermione said, frowning.

Padma shook her head. ‘I don’t care. Macmillan House, now!’

***

Padma let go of Parvati’s arm as they appeared at the front gates.

A powdery snow had begun to fall, melting as it hit the ground. Sheep huddled together on the nearby field. Nothing about the strange, peaceful serenity suggested that anything was wrong.

Hermione blasted the gate open. It creaked loudly, and they hurried through the yard.

‘I don’t think we should ring the bell,’ Padma said. She pointed her wand at the keyhole and started mumbling a multitude of spells at it: several to undo the wards she had added as enforcement, and counter-spells to locking spells.

Parvati walked along the side of the house to peek in through the windows. ‘I don’t see anyone in the parlour.’

Hermione joined Padma in her efforts to break the door open. Hermione’s brow was furrowed in deep focus, her lips curved into a frown. Padma was taken aback by her sudden warm presence next to her, but tried to focus on her spellwork.

Finally, the door clicked open.

They waited for a few seconds before they entered, if something would come out at them, but they were met with nothing but silence. Hermione cast a simple shield in front of them and they followed her inside.

It was quiet in the entrance hall.

‘Homenum Revelio,’ Padma said. Her wand vibrated intensely, suggesting the presence of multiple figures.

Silently, they shuffled into the parlour, where Hermione cast a Shield at both doors.

‘One of us should stay behind in case something happens,’ Hermione said. She and Padma both looked at Parvati.

‘I fought a war too, you know,’ Parvati said, sounding annoyed. ‘But fine. I’ll let you Auror-minded people do your thing.’

‘We’ll send a Patronus if we need immediate back-up,’ Padma said. ‘If we’re not back here within twenty minutes, you’ll know something is wrong.’

‘And I’ll come save your arses,’ Parvati said. She tapped the top of her head with her wand, and started to disappear against the background. Padma saw her outline move against the books and crystal balls, and become still in the corner of the room.

She glanced at Hermione and made a gesture towards the door. Hermione nodded. Wands out, they exited back into the hall.

The last time they had moved like this – alert, focused, fiercely aware of one other's movement – had been in Auror training, when they had made their way through the tactical entry exam set up by Williams and Martinez.

A faint thump was heard from the direction they were heading.

‘Marjory’s room,’ Padma said.

They tiptoed closer. Padma heard her own breaths, unnaturally loud.

A hunched figure stood back to them by a dresser. Black-grey hair fell to his shoulders and looked like it hadn’t seen a barber in a while.

It was better to Stun first and ask questions later.

‘Stupefy!’ Hermione shouted, just as Padma had been about to do the same. A jet of red light surged from her wand, hitting the man square in the back.

He thudded to the ground. Padma winced at the way his head scraped the dresser on the way. She crouched next to him and used her wand to flip him to his side.

‘Gerald,’ Padma said. ‘It was him then. It feels weird to see him up close.’

‘Let’s bind him and go find Marjory,’ Hermione said.

 _What has he done to her?_ Padma thought. He took a quick look at the man to make sure he wasn’t bleeding from the fall.

‘Expelliarmus!’

Padma’s wand flew out of her hand, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione’s wand soar across the room as well.

She turned around.

‘I see you’ve taken care of one problem for me,’ Travers said, and chuckled softly. He twirled his wand in his hand and looked down at the still body at their feet. His cane leaned against the doorframe. In his other hand, he held Padma and Hermione’s wands.

Hermione made a run at him.

‘Stupefy!’

She fell to the ground before Padma had time to react. The wail she had been about to let out died at her mouth.

‘We meet again, Miss Roy,’ Travers said, enjoying her shocked face. ‘Or should I say, Miss Patil. I’ve been doing research on you. It was because of you that I found out where your client lives.’

Padma thought desperately. If she could slowly grab the duvet without getting his attention, she could maybe hurl it at him and make a run to grab her wand.

But before she had time to put her plan into action, she saw a red light approach her.

The last thing Padma saw before she blacked out was Hermione motionless beside her.

***

Padma woke to a pounding headache. She opened her eyes and for one panic-filled second, thought she had lost her eyesight. But then, she started to make out the dim outlines of the small space.

She sat up. Something had been digging into her back uncomfortably and she discovered it to be a shoe. She threw it to the side.

‘Do you have a hairpin on you?’

Padma pulled one out of her ponytail and held out her hand in the direction of Hermione’s voice.

She heard the rustle of clothing, Hermione moved to grab it, exposing the only source of light: the small keyhole she had been tinkering with.

‘Thanks.’

‘Where are we?’ Padma asked.

‘Marjory’s closet.’

It made sense. To her right, Padma felt something like shelves, and if she reached out, she could grasp the hems of cloaks and dresses hung at the other side.

Hermione began to fiddle with the keyhole again. ‘This is certainly one thing that looks easier on the telly…’ she muttered, and let out a string of curse words. After some more futile attempts, she slumped back onto the floor.

Padma saw the brown of her curls faintly in the light. Hermione leaned against the door and had buried her head in her hands.

‘I’m too weak from being Stunned to even try wandless,’ she groaned. ‘God, how could we have been so stupid.’

‘Parvati will find us,’ Padma tried to reassure her. In reality, she didn’t feel particularly hopeful. ‘How long do you think we’ve been out?’

‘Based on the amount of light in Marjory’s room, not long. Ten or fifteen minutes, I’d say. But of course it could be longer.’

Padma didn’t want to think of everything that could have happened to Marjory and Parvati in that time. She curled her knees up against herself and took a more comfortable position against the wall.

A silence followed. It felt large between them and contrasted oddly with the intimate distance. Padma knew she should have been thinking about what was happening in the house – if Travers was their threatener, what was Gerald doing there? – but all she could think about was how she could break the silence between her and Hermione.

‘Hermione,’ Padma said.

Hermione shuffled in response, which Padma took as a sign to continue.

‘I want to say I’m sorry,’ Padma said. Her own voice sounded awkward to her ears. ‘It’s true that I haven’t been very available. And that I’ve been focusing on the case because I haven’t known how to talk to you.’

‘I want to apologise too,’ Hermione said. Padma heard her sigh. ‘I pressured you. I’m sorry. Everyone always says I’m a bossy git and I try not to be,’ she said. ‘But I guess I was panicking because it seemed like you really liked me at first, and when you started to act strangely, and I began to second-guess myself.’

Padma tried to interrupt her, but Hermione stopped her. ‘Let me say this, please.’

‘I’m also angry with you. Rightfully angry, I think,’ Hermione said. ‘It’s not always easy for me to recognise what I’m feeling, but I’ve done a lot of thinking since our talk the other day, and it’s true that I haven’t told you what I want. But you also haven’t given me a chance to.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ Padma said, choking back the lump that was starting to gather in her throat. ‘I really want to hear what you have to say.’

Hermione sighed again. When she spoke again she sounded more like herself, less defensive than before.

‘I’ve been thinking about how you said we’re too different. I’m not sure if that’s really very true,’ she said. ‘And I don’t know if we’re dating… or something else. We’ll figure that part out. But I need you to talk to me. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask after the closeness we’ve shared.’

Padma nodded. She realised Hermione couldn’t see her, and said, voice quivering, ‘It’s not.’

To her horror, Padma started to cry.

‘I—I really don’t — want to lose you,’ she said, trembling. ‘I don’t want to keep living like this. But I can’t recommend myself to anyone either.’

She was glad it was dark so that Hermione couldn’t see the fat, salty tears running down her face.

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked quietly.

The words started rushing out of Padma like an unstoppable flood, carrying with them every anguished emotion she had been gripped by in the last days.

‘It’s like everyone else experiences feelings in a way that’s _louder_ , somehow. I don’t even know what I’m feeling half of the time. I feel like I'm just a spectator in my own life, like my body moves on its own accord, I talk and say things and words just come out of my mouth. And it scares me that this is going to be my life, that everything I’m going to feel during the course of my life is just this massive _nothingness_.’

She gasped for breath, as if she had just surfaced from rapid waters.

‘And anyone who wants to be with me is going to realise at some point that I’m not, I _can’t_ be, who they want me to be.’ She wiped a trail of snot and tears on the sleeve of her robes and turned to look at Hermione, even though she couldn’t see her in the dark. ‘I can't even explain it. I’ve just always been like this. And I hate it.’

There it was, the big, ugly truth of it all, laid bare for Hermione to see. Padma didn’t even care at this point. She was so tired. It didn’t matter what Hermione’s response would be. Saying aloud feelings she had never shared with anyone had cleansed her of fear.

Padma felt a warm hand curl around her fingers. One more gasp of breath escaped her, this time from surprise. She interlocked their fingers, feeling a relief so strong she thought she would collapse from it.

Hermione leaned close, the sudden weight of her legs reassuring against Padma’s.

‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t like yourself at times,’ she said. Padma heard her swallow, and take a deep breath. ‘Sometimes I worry that there’s something inherently wrong with me, that makes people steer clear of me. That no-one will ever like me because I’m so controlling. I make decisions on other people’s behalf just because I can’t bear the thought of them screwing up. But even more, I couldn’t bear it if they were better than me. I think I do it in order to make people stay away from me – to create an explanation to why people generally don’t like me, instead of…’ She trailed off.

Padma squeezed her hand harder, urging her closer. Hermione scooted closer until she was side by side with her against the back wall.

‘Hell, I wiped my parents’ memories,’ she said. ‘They turned out fine, but for a while it seemed that there was no way to return their memories.’

There was a sound from the other side of the door.

Padma felt Hermione freeze beside her. She fumbled around for anything to use for protection: her hands found the same shoe she had thrown aside and she grabbed it despite knowing it was useless.

She clambered up from the floor. Hermione stood up at the same time and accidentally elbowed her.

The door was being rattled now. ‘Bloody fucker…’

The door caved in, missing them by a few inches as it swung past their faces. Light pooled in from the room, harsh and unpleasant.

‘Isn’t it enough that you Bludgered me once?’ Gerald said, seeing them. They must have been quite a sight pressed against the back wall of the closet, Padma with her shoe, Hermione with a clothes hanger in her hand.

‘I’m trying to help you. I sent you my Patronus.’

***

‘Upstairs,’ Hermione said.

Conscious that they didn’t have wands, Padma grabbed an umbrella from the closet. She ran after Hermione out the door, and Gerald limped a few steps behind them.

They slowed down when they heard a piercing voice. It echoed through the hallways.

‘It was Gerald I was more worried about,’ Travers said. ‘But then, I heard about this business with detectives. What were you thinking?’

Padma spotted Parvati hiding behind an old armchair. Parvati was gripping her wand, staring intently at the scene before them. From her pocket peeked three other wands. Padma could have cried from relief.

‘What is this life you’re living anyways? You were always an odd one, Marjory, but this is pitiful, even for you,’ Travers said to Marjory. ‘You have no friends. Nobody will miss you.’

Padma tapped Parvati’s shoulder. Parvati gasped, but covered her mouth quickly.

‘It’s almost a pity. You’ve stayed so nice and quiet. I should have made _you_ my wife, not your sister,’ he said. ‘Nosy, she was. Always prying into my private business.’

Padma had her wand out ready to Stun him, but Hermione put a hand in front of her to stop her. ‘Shh.’

‘Are you going to kill me like you killed her?’ Marjory said, voice trembling.

Travers let out a laugh. ‘I do believe I will. I’ll make this painless for you, sweetheart.’

‘Now!’ Hermione whispered.

‘Expelliarmus!’ Padma and Parvati shouted at the same time.

‘Stupefy! cried Hermione.

Travers’ wand flew out of his hand. He turned around quickly – Padma had the chance to see a flash of anger – and Hermione’s stunner hit him in the middle of the face.

Marjory let out a cry as he fell to her feet. Padma and Parvati rushed to her as Hermione went to bind Travers.

***

Travers was starting to wake up. His eyes cracked open, and he blinked slowly.

‘My guards know where to look for me,’ he spat. ‘They’ll come after you. And I assure you, I _will_ take this to court.’

Padma and Hermione looked at each other, and sent a new set of Stunners at him. He let out a yelp and his head fell limp against his chest.

‘What if he does manage to slither his way out of this one as well?’ Padma asked, worried.

Hermione tapped the front of her cloak.

‘Don’t worry,’ Hermione said. ‘I have his confession on tape. That should be proof enough until we get to a Pensieve.’

‘What’ll we do about him?’ Parvati asked.

‘I s’pose we’ll have to call the Aurors,’ Gerald said gruffly. ‘I’ll be frank with you, I don’t like the thought of dealing with them tonight. It still makes me uneasy, after all these years.’

‘I can get some friends from the MLE to pick him up,’ Hermione said. ‘I have a feeling Harry and Ron would be more than happy to volunteer.’

***

‘I don’t have any scones this time,’ Marjory said. ‘But there’s biscuits to go with tea. And I have some scotch, for all those interested. I know I’m in need of something stronger, myself.’

They sat in the parlour. Parvati had lit the candles – their warm glow lulled Padma into a drowsiness after all the excitement of the day. If Padma avoided looking at the tied up man in the corner of the room, it would have almost felt atmospheric.

Padma refused the scotch but gratefully grabbed a fistful of biscuits from the tin passed to her. It was an eternity since they had eaten pizza in the office. Hermione was squeezed next to her on the sofa, the warmth of her knee reassuring next to hers. Even though she had downed the Pain-Relieving Potion that Hermione had procured from the depths of her rucksack, Padma’s head was heavy from the blow it had received.

Gerald paced in front of Marjory’s bookcase, hawklike, rough and intense against the background of trinkets and books.

They spent a moment in amicable silence, filled with only the sounds of tea cups clinking and the wind blowing outside.

‘I suppose we finally have the answer to who sent that letter,’ Parvati said eventually. She glanced in Travers’ direction with a shudder.

But Padma turned to Gerald.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she asked him, and took pleasure in Parvati’s shocked face when he nodded.

‘I was trying to warn her,’ he said. ‘I knew Roy’s return to England meant nothing but trouble.’

‘It was a very threatening message from someone who claims to be her friend,’ Parvati accused.

Padma saw the look Gerald and Marjory shared, and said, ‘It wasn’t your original letter that Marjory showed to us. You must have written something that was bad enough that she didn’t want us to know. I’ve kept wondering what it was.’

Gerald didn’t answer. Padma looked between him and Marjory, who was tense, all of a sudden. And then, the final piece slid into place, making a satisfying ‘click’ in Padma's mind.

‘You’re not Marjory at all,’ Padma said, turning to Marjory. Padma was unable to stop her lips from turning into a triumphant smile. ‘You’re Katherine. You’ve been impersonating your twin sister for nearly forty years.’

Hermione gasped next to her. A look of alarm flashed on Marjory’s face. The only one who didn’t look shocked was Gerald.

Marjory nodded slowly. She dug out a rattled piece of paper from the pocket of her robes and Padma Accioed it. In handwriting very similar to the one in the first letter, read: _I’m coming for you. I know who you are._

‘Gerald figured it out. But I didn’t know it was him. For all I knew, it could have been anyone, but I had my fears, of course.’

‘I didn’t know for sure. I suspected you weren’t Marjory ever since the trial,’ Gerald said. ‘I knew that Roy would come looking for me, and after he had got to me, he would take care of you. He had too much at stake to lose if either of us got him charged for what he did back then.’ Gerald said. ‘But I also had to find out for once if you were her. Otherwise I wouldn’t have my peace.’

‘When we were children, Marjory and I sometimes changed places out of boredom. There wasn’t much to do at great-aunt Beatrice’s, so we amused ourselves by seeing if she and her bridge club friends would notice the difference. They never did.’

It was strange hearing her refer to her sister as Marjory. It would take some time getting used to.

‘When we came to live with Roy, it was a completely different matter. Marjory knew how much I suffered as his wife. She suggested we switch places sometimes. Marjory liked Quidditch, so she didn’t mind going flying with him, and I was glad for the break.’

‘I told you their charts didn’t make sense!’ Padma squealed, turning to Padma with excitement. But she sombered again when she noticed how serious Katherine had become.

‘That’s why you couldn’t open up to us, particularly me,’ Hermione said. ‘Legally, you’re still married to Roy. You were worried we’d report you to the Aurors.’

Marjory—Katherine nodded. She lay her hands in her lap and leaned back in her armchair, disappearing into her story.

‘I’ve cut my ties to that monster,’ she said. ‘I never in a million years would have suspected you for Marjory’s murder, my old friend.’ She turned to Gerald. ‘But your last words to me made me question that. You had kept disappearing with Marjory. I started to wonder if there was something I had misunderstood.’

‘Marjory and I were working on trying to expose Roy,’ he said. ‘She convinced me that we shouldn’t tell you—’ he glanced at Katherine, ‘because of your proximity to Roy. We were going to gather enough evidence and get us all out of there.’

Katherine and Gerald went silent again. They seemed to dance around each other, radiating awkward unfamiliarity, yet tied together by an unusual history.

‘I’m glad to have an old friend back. I hope you aren’t off to England too soon, Gerald,’ Katherine said.

‘I’m not much for society anymore. I rather enjoy the peace and quiet here,’ Gerald grunted. ‘So, if you have a guest room to spare, I believe we have a lot to catch up on.’

They smiled sadly at each other. Whatever was transmitted in those looks was out of Padma’s grasp. It seemed to Padma that they had forgotten the presence of anyone else in the room.

It didn’t matter. Padma crammed a biscuit into her mouth and leaned her head against Hermione’s shoulder. A curl of Hermione’s hair tickled her forehead, but she didn’t do anything to brush it off.

***

When they heard the arrival of Harry and Ron, Katherine turned to Padma.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I don’t want the press interested in my life. I just want to keep living my life. Let me continue living as Marjory.’

Padma promised her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Epilogue**

‘Remind me again why we’re at my place and not yours?’ Padma said. ‘Oh yeah, you wanted to try out my stamp-sized bed.’

She mirrored Hermione, who stood in Padma’s small kitchen, and looked around the place with new eyes. Ronette or Lisa – Padma had finally learned their names – had cleaned, apparently: the table was free of crumbs, the papers haphazardly stacked in a pile to one end.

‘ _And_ , I want to meet your flatmates. I want to know more about your life,’ Hermione said. Her nose scrunched up as she sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell?’

Padma smelled it too: a faint whiff of something herbal and sweet, floating from the closed door to the left. She gave a small shake of her head.

‘Definitely not basil,’ she said. She grabbed Hermione’s hand. ‘Never mind that. Come. Let’s go to my room. I want to cuddle you.’

In her room, Padma threw _Out of Your Mind, a Mind Healing Journey_ onto the bedside table and pulled Hermione into the bed with her. Despite the brave words, when they were finally tangled in each other and the sheets of Padma’s small bed, Padma felt a little embarrassed. She wasn’t used to being openly needy. But she was learning to open up.

She and Hermione were in a better place now. They had talked things over – several times – and while Padma’s difficulty in making sense of her own feelings hadn’t gone anywhere, she felt less panic over it. She had done her best to communicate everything to Hermione. Sometimes the best she could do was an _I don’t know_ or _I’ll let you know you later_ , but luckily, Hermione met her unsurety with understanding.

‘You okay?’ Hermione asked in a soft voice.

‘Yeah,’ Padma said. ‘It feels good. Safe.’

She snuggled deeper into Hermione’s embrace, settling into the curve of her neck. Hermione’s fingers stroked her hair, making calm, soothing lines against her scalp.

The possibilities of their current position became clear after a few minutes, when Padma realised how heavy Hermione’s breathing had become. Padma let her lips graze the back of Hermione’s ear and felt Hermione’s chest rise beneath her as her breathing hitched.

‘So were we talking this kind of cuddling, then?’ she murmured in Hermione’s ear, making sure to blow some warm air in it at the same time.

‘Maybe…’ Hermione said. She ached into Padma’s teasing and bucked her hips against Padma’s knee. Padma felt the first ripple of arousal pass through her in a wave.

Then, Hermione interrupted Padma by planting a kiss on her lips. She propped herself up better on the pillows, and Padma’s knee slipped away from between her legs. ‘I want to do this slower tonight. Softly. It’s okay if it doesn’t work out,’ she said. ‘I just want to try something different.’

Padma waited for her to continue.

‘I love it when you take command. I love getting told what to do. There’s thrill in it, but part of it is also relief,’ Hermione said. ‘I… as much as I love bossing people around outside the bedroom, when it comes to sex, it’s hard for me to be in control. But I want to practice that.’

She looked Padma in the eye, unsure.

‘So, if you’d like to go down on me…’

‘Always,’ Padma grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader! Thank you so much for sticking through to the end. <3
> 
> I can't believe it's done! This was a wild ride to write, especially with Covid madness going on. Around two weeks before the deadline, I started to realize that I can't write a mystery fic to save my life. This was probably painfully evident from the ending, but I hope that despite the gaping plot holes, you found something in this story to enjoy. :)


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